


A Grim Old Place Indeed

by crapfaerie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And They're Getting One, Bring Back Black | Sirius Black Returns From Beyond the Veil, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Draco runs away, Draco trying to be good, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Indian Harry Potter, M/M, Mention abuse, Nobody is Dead, Not Beta Read, POV Multiple, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Raise Harry Potter, fenrir greyback being a bitch, soft, wolfstar being parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25744858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crapfaerie/pseuds/crapfaerie
Summary: They say even the smallest of things can bring back the sweetest of memories. Only, Harry didn’t think it would be things like toaster pastries, tacky quilts and Shakshouka.But then again, nothing has been the same since Sirius rescued a certain someone from an alley.ORGrimmauld Place has always been gloomy and depressing. No one expected that all it would take to change that was a dysfucntional little family of five (and friends!)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 181
Kudos: 507





	1. A Stray in the Alleyway

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: the description does NOT do justice to the fic. It makes it sound like tooth-rotting fluff but it's actually angst upon angst upon angst (with a dash of fluff in between)
> 
> You have been warned. This ain't a sweet ride.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius goes for a run and discovers a young Black hiding among the wheelie bins in a muggle alley?

All Blacks had this _feature_ that distinguished them from other people. No one could be entirely sure what it was. 

The hair? The air of aristocracy they carried? Was it their looks? Well, whatever it was, it helped Sirius figure out that the shivering boy huddling in an alleyway was a Black.

Moony would have told him he shouldn’t have wandered out in the first place, but in Sirius’ defence, spending so much time cooped up in No.12 Grimmauld Place (and it was grim when Moony wasn't around) made him feel sick.  
What’s a dog to do for a breath of fresh air?

Probably not rescue another Black, that’s for sure.

The kid finally looked up, pale and silver-eyed thing.  
“Go away,” He said softly, not quite meeting Sirius’ eye. His skin blotched red in some places. Bruises only just starting to heal. The boy’s eyes sunk in and his cheeks were hollow.  
Sirius realized with a shudder that it was almost as if looking at himself at that age.

His body moved of his own accord. Like his mind had been shoved aside to let his heart take the reins. Sirius scoffed. As if that ever lead to anything good. Gryffindorism had its downsides.

A trip back home, and then he was padding back to the alleyway again. Lighting shook above him as pellets of rain damped his coat. Not even that could shake his resolve now.

At first glance, the alleyway seemed empty. No shivering teenage boys carrying duffel bags in sight. A million thoughts raced his mind and the more logical part of his brain urged him to leave. Damn his heart. Why did he have to start feeling compassion _now?_

“Oh. You’re back.”

There was no turning back now.

Sirius faced the boy again. He was cooped up in a corner. Still shivering.  
It was always warmer in the corners, he remembered Lily telling him once. Or had she meant something else by 90 degrees?

The rain made his hair stick to his forehead and Sirius couldn’t help but wince at the fresh cut on his lips. They were turning blue from the cold. 

Anyone else would have taken one look at the boy’s soot covered cheeks and declare him inconsequential.

Sirius knew better.  
Even in the blistering cold he sat with his back ludicrously straight. The posture of someone forced to sit for hours strapped to a metal chair. A Black.

He had a trophy, this young Black tramping around muggle London. A stale loaf of bread that he held like it was one of Walburga’s distasteful but expensive china teacups. Sirius wrinkled his sensitive nose at the greenish tint on it. It was probably weeks old. Not suitable for consumption at all.

There was no way he was letting this boy eat that kind of food. Especially not a Black. Especially a Black _on the run._

“Hey!” The boy rasped. “Give it back. That’s my supper.” He made a grab for the loaf of bread but otherwise didn’t put up much of a fight. He was too tired for it, it looked like.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste when Sirius threw it in the wheelie bin. “I can’t eat _that._ ” He said in disgust. Sirius almost rolled his eyes.

He wanted to tell the boy to stop acting so dramatic, but he knew what would happen if a dog started talking. Instead, Sirius pushed the plastic baggie at him.

“What’s this?” He fingered the baggie, looking at Sirius expectantly. Like he should start talking any minute now.

Sirius gave him the closest thing to a shrug a dog could manage.

The boy’s face lit up when he saw the few sandwiches and bottles of water packed in there. “Thank you.” He smiled, the colour already returning to his cheeks. Then, he sneezed.

All the ‘I’ve done good’ feelings disappeared when Sirius realized he’d forgotten the most important thing. A blanket.

Then, another bright idea flashed through his mind. Lily would have been proud of all the thinking he was doing today, Sirius decided as he wrapped himself around the boy as best as he could. Sharing his body heat with the shivering old thing.

The boy gave him another grateful smile and pulled a sandwich out of the baggie.  
The rain drizzled on around them as Sirius watched the boy eat his meal, one hand stroking his sleek black fur. He was so much like Harry. They were probably around the same age.

Night-time was made known by muggle streetlights illuminating the roads. The light didn’t quite reach their corner of the alleyway though.  
The darkness made him worry. Alleyways made for the perfect place to pull heists or illegal drug trafficking. Muggles were very particular about their nightly recreation. The boy risked getting killed here.

The stroking stopped. The boy’s breathing evened and soft snores escaped his lips. Sirius sighed. He wasn’t going home tonight. Moony be damned.

Forget a warm bed and welcoming arms. This boy needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with another HP fanfic. Just wanted my boys to have some fun. Draco and Harry badly need some care, poor babies.  
> Anyway, tell me what you think of this chapter! Would love to hear from y'all.
> 
> Just realized the chapter title rhymes. Didn't mean to do that so... Good for me?


	2. Know That I'm With You The Only Way That I Can Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A worried Moony. Stressed Sirius. Soft, domestic wolfstar.

Sirius remembered to lock the door behind him before he changed back. He smelled ironically enough like a wet dog. He hoped he’d be able to shower and sneak out again before Remus woke up.

Then again, perhaps he had underestimated Moony’s reaction.

“Where were you?” 

Sirius found himself tackled by a very worried werewolf. Smiling gingerly, he dragged muddy fingers through Remus’ hair. “Moony, I-”

Remus glared daggers at him, though his eyes were fragile and weary. “You know you aren’t supposed to go outside. You could have been found out.”

Sirius allowed a sigh. “I was in a muggle area Moony. I went as Padfoot. Now if you would-“

“Muggle or animagi or whatever.” Moony’s lips trembled. “I worried for you.”

Sirius pulled him in for a hug. Worry was an emotion they felt constantly. It may be for Harry. For their relationship or even the war.   
They were always, always shaken up by the ‘what ifs’. Possibilities weren’t something they dwelled much on after James passed.

“Babe?" He continued when Remus hummed in acknowledgement. "D’you know any Blacks around Harry’s age?” 

Of course, the conversation would have to drift to the boy at some point. Might as well be then.

“I don’t think so, though now that you mention it…” 

Remus whispered the name to his ear, like they were sixteen again and sitting together in the Gryffindor common room. Sirius could almost see that red armchair. It never quite fit two, but they sat in it anyway. They often whispered like that to annoy James, who hated being left out. It was just pointless murmuring back then. 

_This_ wasn’t pointless murmuring.

“Narcissa’s boy. _Draco_.” The words felt foreign on his tongue. Sirius wouldn’t admit it, but he was hoping Andromeda had something to do with the alley boy. 

Of course, the resemblance was uncanny, even though ‘Cissa only had blonde hair because of albinism. Pureblood breeding did that sometimes. It created a motive too, for the boy to run away. Lucius Malfoy being a Death Eater and all. 

It put him in a new light. He wasn’t the prat Harry liked to complain about anymore. He seemed less and less like a stick-up-arse bigot, and more and more like a _child_. One that was being forced to battle in a war, not having any other choice. Like Harry.

The danger was imminent. Panic bubbled in his throat. “Moony, we have to help him.” Sirius gripped his shirt, crumpling the logo of Queen, Moony’s favourite band. “He’s going to _die_.”

“Sirius, this is Lucius Malfoy’s son we’re talking about.” Remus looked guilty. 

“He isn’t _just_ Lucius’ son. He’s ‘Cissa’s. He’s _family_.” 

He hadn’t meant to say it. But Remus did, and the horror that tainted his face pained him. _“Since when do you care about family?”_

Their teenage years long gone, outbursts like those only meant love. The war left them burned and bruised. Desperate to keep one another safe. Alarm was understandable. Guilt often followed.

Sirius saw that in the way Remus wouldn’t meet his eyes. He could see it in the way Remus flinched when he pushed a finger under his chin and made him look. In the way his shoulders slumped in relief when Sirius kissed him slow.

All was forgiven.

“You can’t bring him home yet,” Their fingers intertwined, foreheads pressed together. “Look after him, find out what he’s doing out here.” Remus was right to worry.

“You give me too much credit babe, after all, I am only a dog.” 

“I thought I’d asked you to stop calling me that.” Remus smiled, soft again. Not fragile. Whole.

“I never agreed to.” He smirked.

And their lips pressed together again, and all was good. All was perfect. He could spend all eternity like this.

“Now go help your stray.”

And there goes that fantasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from a lyric in Remember Me from Coco bc that movie makes me ugly cry.
> 
> I don't think I'm good at prose tho ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyways comment, kudos and all that bc that's what keeps me going. Love y'all.


	3. Close your eyes, I know what you see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Draco have a heart-to-heart. Turns out they understand each other better than they thought?  
> And guess who's finally coming to No.12 Grimmauld Place!

It took Sirius three trips before the boy started talking. Besides 'thank you' and 'sorry' I mean.

Over the week he started looking better. His face gained colour and while his eyes still sunk in, they didn’t look as ghastly as before. No more blue lips, thanks to the blanket Sirius remembered to bring.

The boy, Narcissa’s boy smiled when he saw the black dog come in, tugging a pack of goodies.

“Are you sure you're not stealing any of this?”

Sirius shook his head before his mind could register what he had done.

The boy, it was starting to get difficult to call him that, pursed his lips. “You understand me, don’t you? No, it’s okay, don’t leave.” He dragged long fingers through the fur, almost tugging. A silent beg.

Sirius turned around and planted his arse on the alley floor, eyes and ears wide open. 

Draco had his head leaned against one of the less mouldy areas of the wall. He looked almost normal in the warm clothes Remus insisted Sirius give him. That earned him a lot of questions about his 'owner' which Sirius dutifully ignored. 

A part of him wanted to change back and bring his smelly cousin home for a bath and warm bed. Another part of him urged to heed Remus’ advice. He let the logical side win out this time.

“I’m from a place where magic is real. There are witches and wizards. I’ve lived there my whole life.” Oh, the boy was talking. “There’s been some conflict. War.” He swallowed the same time Sirius winced at the word. 

“My father wanted me to join the dark faction. Like, how can you even think they’re right? The leader calls himself the _Dark_ Lord for Merlin’s sake!” Point taken.

Sirius put a paw on Draco’s thigh. A reassurance of sorts. There were a million words spoken in that tiny action.

 _Go on. I’m listening. Your thoughts are valid and worth my time. I’m here for you because your opinions matter. You matter. Go on._

So Draco did. “I couldn’t stay there… I couldn’t do that when I _knew_ that it was wrong. My mother thinks so too…” Here, Sirius glanced up in surprise. “But she thinks our hands are tied. Nothing to be done.”

Draco took a deep breath, trying to ease the shaking. He looked sick to the stomach as he said it, but like the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders when he did.  
“I am not my mother, and I am not my father either. I’m sick of being told what to do. Made felt like everything I say is wrong. I didn't want to be defined by their actions… blamed for their mistakes...So I ran away.”

Sirius saw memories flash by of himself, barely sixteen. Hiding in pubs and sleeping under bridges until James rescued him. How much he cried when Euphemia hugged him and called him her son. James standing up for him when they all sneered at the runaway. Being given a _home._ Loved and accepted. Being made to feel like he could change the world. 

He’d been given a chance to start over, with a family that cared for him. Why should Draco be any different? Sirius was sure his parents would have been part of Voldemort's little coterie had they been alive. Would that have changed anything to the Marauders? He liked to think not.

It was time for a survivor to help another survivor. James taught him to swim when he started to drown. Sirius would do the same for Draco.

***

The next time Sirius visited the alleyway, he went as himself.

“Is that you?” Came Draco’s excited voice from somewhere. “I think I've finally got the hang of making fires."

When he got no reply, Draco turned around and froze, dropping a smoking stick on his arm. He winced and Sirius had to physically restrain himself from pulling the boy close to him. 

“You’re Sirius Black.” Draco said, looking detached. Like he couldn’t care less. He probably didn’t. The boy lived in an alleyway for crying out loud. that can't be easy after spending half his life in a manor and the rest in a castle.

Sirius closed his eyes, awaiting the unavoidable ‘you escaped from Azkaban’ or ‘murderer’ that always followed his name.

It never came.

“You’re my mother’s cousin.” Draco stated blankly. “She talks about you a lot.”

Sirius could almost hug him to death. Instead, he slid down to sit next to him, the fire crackling between them. An unbearable silence hung around them like a cold, wet blanket. Neither could look the other in the eye.

Sirius cleared his throat, never one to enjoy silence. “The dog that’s been helping you… he’s err... he’s my dog.” 

“Well,” The boy played with his dirty fingers. “He’s been great company. Thank you.”

“I didn’t come here for your gratitude.”

Draco snorted, almost seeming the boy Harry enjoyed picking fights with. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Another silence followed. This one enhanced with the sound of dripping water Sirius hadn't noticed before. Must be from a leaky pipe. 

“Are you here to take me back? To _them?_ ”  
Sirius found ‘Them’ to be an awfully nostalgic word. He knew exactly who Draco was talking about and that hurt. To think that someone had to go through what he did, maybe even worse, made his shoulders feel heavy in a way they hadn’t in a long time.

“No.” Sirius replied bitterly. “I’d never let that happen.” He turned to face the teen to find him staring, mouth agape.

“I’m here to offer you protection from Death Eaters. I’m offering you shelter, food and somewhere to sleep without worrying about maggots.”

Draco swallowed. He bit his lip and then glanced around as if waiting for masked maniacs to appear any second. “What’s the catch?”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Draco shrugged. “What’s the catch? Do I have to take an unbreakable vow? Must I be your personal slave for the next century? What is it?”

Sirius wanted to strangle whoever made this boy so brutally cynical in the worst way. “There’s no catch. I just... I just want you to…” Live a happy life? Not have to look back every step? Was this Sirius seeing himself in the boy and selfishly wanting to rescue him to make up for his lost childhood? He faltered. Where was his Gryffindor bravery when he needed it?

“I can’t trust you.” Draco said finally. “I don’t have a reason to.”

Sirius pulls his knees to his chest, bracing himself for what he was about to say next. “I ran away when I was sixteen.”

He had the boy’s attention now. Sirius heard him drop the stick he was drawing dragons on the ground with. “You know my mother, Walburga.” He saw Draco nod in his peripheral vision. “She practically disowned me the moment they put me in Gryffindor. Acted like I didn’t exist and my brother Regulus became her only son.”

“Did it not hurt?” came Draco’s hesitant voice from somewhere beside him. “When they made you feel invisible?”

Sirius laughed again. It sounded hollow. “Trust me kid, it was better when she didn’t notice me.”  
His mind drifted the hours of putting up with verbal abuse. Hiding under his bed until she gone. James healing his bruises when he went back to Hogwarts. 

“Slept in the slums and ate out of the trash for a while before James found me.”

“That’s Potter’s father right?” Draco whispered. “I’m sorry.” 

It took him a moment to register what the boy was apologizing for.

Sirius gestured vaguely with his hand, itching for a fag. “Don’t be. James is probably gloating about dying a hero right this moment. He’s a bastard like that.”

Come to think of it, James would be fuming right about now. About Dumbledore’s stupid plans that put Harry in near-death situation and the likes. 

Draco laughed. It lasted only a second, but the sound made Sirius’ heart well with pride. _He_ did that. He made him smile.

“If you want a reason, just think of it as me seeing myself in you. And wanting to sort of thank James for what he did for me. It’s all very selfish you see?” Sirius smiled. “I am but a selfish man who wants no debt from dead people on my head.”

Suddenly Draco was standing up. “Okay. I’ll go.”

“Really?” Sirius blurted out. He couldn’t believe it actually _worked._  
Considering how headstrong the boy’s mother was Sirius expected far more resistance. Then again, who wouldn’t get tired of living in an alleyway?

He shrugged, ’Cissa’s boy. “I think I’d rather die at my cousin’s house than an alleyway. Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

Sirius couldn’t help the smile on his face. This boy was a Black alright. Just like him.

_He was family._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay who cried? Because I did. Even though that makes me sound pretentious, crying over my own work like that. Oops.
> 
> Longer than usual chapter for y'all because I love you. Also I can't believe I wrote three chapters without a single curse word in them? Amazing. Well, two actually, because Sirius swore in this one. Still a record for me.
> 
> Title taken from Soldatino. Where are all my PJO fans at?


	4. Shakshouka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for some mentions of Fenrir Greyback doing his bull and also past self harm. Lotta scars. Also it doesn't coincide with the HP timeline at all but idc about that.

Sirius smelled the shakshouka even before he saw Remus fumbling around in their makeshift kitchen. He was stress-cooking again.

"Sirius, where did you put the cans of tomato paste?”

He cleared his throat. "We have a guest." 

There was more fumbling from the kitchen and Sirius tried not to wince when he heard some Tupperware crash. Remus popped his head out and beamed at Draco, who was hiding behind Sirius. 

"Hullo Draco," he said, wiping something off his cheek. "I hope you don't mind me borrowing this kitchen for a while. It's not like Sirius makes anything but toaster pastries anyway."

"Why don't I show you to the loo?" Said Sirius, leading his guest up the stairs. He didn’t think he could stand anymore teasing from Remus.

"First door on the right."

Draco turned to enter when Sirius grabs his shoulder. "Yes?"

Sirius let go, running that hand through his hair. He liked to consider himself a man of economic movement after all.  
“You know why Remus left his job.” He continued when he got a nod from the other male. “I’ll have you know I won’t tolerate a word against him. Family or no.”

Draco crinkled his eyes in the widest smile, but there was something else in his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Nah,” Sirius could feel the heat creep up his neck. “I’m the lucky one. Now go shower, you stink.”

He could hear his cousin laughing even as he walked down the steps.

“Now,” he wrapped his arms around Remus, resting his head at the crook of his neck. “About those toaster pastries.”

***

It didn’t look odd, Draco sitting on the floor with them. The three of them huddled around the coffee table, which was just a pallet box turned upside down. Remus enlarged and thrown one of Walburga’s lacy coasters onto it to make it 'look pretty'.

Draco engaged in avid conversation with said wizard, something about the virtues of alchemy over potions. Sirius didn’t bother keeping up.  
Draco had to keep adjusting the jammies Sirius lent him. He made a mental note to take him shopping later.

“I just think alchemy has a lot more potential than just the Philosophers Stone,” Draco said, dipping his bread into the shakshouka. He had to roll his sleeve up to stop any getting on them. 

Remus frowned, eyeing the marred flesh, red and purple. The burn mark from before stood stark against the fainting bruises. “Were you ever going to mention someone hurt you?”

He blanked. “I… uh…”

Remus already had his wand out and was swiftly healing the wounds on one hard. “Show me your left arm.”

Draco made a sound of protest. All the laughter and jokes gone and a monotonous mask in its place. He looked distant, face paler than ever as he tugged at the sleeve. He quivered a little, Sirius noticed.

“It’s okay,” Remus said soothingly. “We let you in knowing fully that they might have marked you. It doesn't change what we think of you.”

The boy in question swallowed thickly. “It’s true that I have a mark. Many actually, but not the kind you think I do.” He displayed his forearm, eyes closed. 

There was a sharp intake of breath as Remus took in the scars. The flesh was a ghastly puce from where the teeth had sunken in. Around it, claw marks, jagged and deep spelt words like _failure_ and _traitor_. Straight lines, crisp and almost invisible, added to the mess.

Sirius had to sit down, the vehemence far too much for him. How could they? and that too to the point Draco felt compelled to hurt himself.

“They meant for me to kill Dumbledore last year. He’d picked me for a task he was sure I’d fail. To punish my father. To humiliate us. It didn't work out for some reason.” Draco said.  
"I don't transform, but Greyback marked me. I have his blood. I am impure now." he said it in such a dejected way as if he'd already resigned to a fate of eternal misery.

Remus had in wand in a death grip, knuckles white and shaking. His face might have been calm, reassuring, but his eyes gave him away. Pure anger. Hatred for the man that ruined millions of lives. 

“You know what they said? _‘You can babysit the pups.’_ Like that’s what-what… ” Draco choked, burying his face in Remus’ shoulder as the latter had pulled him for a hug. 

Sirius felt awkward, standing there, not being able to do anything. This was something he could only stand and watch. Giving support from the side-lines. The revelation opened many of Remus’ old wounds. Sirius would be the one to stitch those up. For now, he let Moony take care of the broken boy before them.

The bite might have been part of the reason Draco decided to leave. Lucius and Narcissa might have been horrible people, being Voldemort’s disciples and all, but they were Draco’s parents. Ones whom he loved more than life. Their son not being pureblood anymore might have been a hard blow for them. 

Sirius remembered Remus telling him about a student’s boggart being his parents’ disappointment. Perhaps this was that particular student, huddled in Moony’s arms. Being comforted and patted on the back more times than the Malfoys probably did in a year.

Mind made up, he went into the kitchen. The packet of homemade chamomile and lavender tea caught his eye. Sirius knew Moony liked a cup of that after a particularly depressing day, or a bad full moon. It helped with anxiety and insomnia which Sirius knew his beau had a bad case of. 

When he walked back to the living room, the blonds hunched over a herbology book. Their eyes puffed red and Remus sniffled a bit, but Sirius decided they were okay.

“I made us tea!” he announced loudly. “You have to try some, Draco. It’s Moony’s special recipe.” “And what are we eating with that?” Remus asks dryly, already knowing the answer.

Sirius smirked. “Toaster pastries, of course.”

Draco laughed at that and Sirius felt his heart fill with joy. Things were going to be okay. They were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shakshouka is a family favourite and my go-to comfort food, so thought I might include that since my Harry's kinda Indian kinda Middle Eastern type idk. Also I was too lazy to find a song.  
> Anyways tell me what you think! I feed off your comments because I'm an attention whore, fight me   
> ᗜԅ(⇀︿⇀)ᓄ-¤]═────


	5. Look Before You Leap (or stick a fork in the toaster)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HARRY'S POV  
> Harry and Draco interacting. Also there's an incident with Sirius' toaster pastries.  
> Lets just say Padfoot was not pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I don't know what to name these chapters but I feel obliged to cause I love it when chapters have names.  
> Also this might be kinda cliche (toaster thing) but I thought it was cute so...  
> Harry is fun to write. He's ready to combust at any given minute. Well, my Harry is. (ヅ)

Mrs Weasely planted fat kisses on his cheeks. 

“Molly!” Harry blushed. “I'm staying with Sirius. Not gallivanting around with Voldemort.” He joked.

Molly tsked and squashed him in a fervent hug.  
“It’s not your stay with your godfather that bothers me, Harry.” She muttered, though Harry could barely hear her from inside her crushing embrace. “It’s what comes _after_. Must you go fight you-know-who? There are others who'd be willing you know?”

Harry had to catch his breath before speaking. “I have to, Mrs Weasely. I'm the only one that can.”

“At least Ron and Hermione are helping.”

“Yeah,” Harry glanced at his friend’s faces. Hermione gave him a tight-lipped smile while Ron nodded jerkily. Neither of them was keen on his going to Grimmauld Place. 

“Err...I'll be going now.”

He caught sight of Ginny staring at him with the bannister in a death grip before he apparated from the Burrow. She’d been the only one not to say goodbye.

Harry couldn’t blame her. As blindly in love as she was, even Ginny could see that they weren’t working. There was too much going on. You can’t engage in teenage romance with death looming over every step, right?

“Maybe we can try this again sometime?” She’d offered. “If neither of us is dead.”

Ginny had been cool about it, but Harry later learned that she’d shut herself in the room and refused to come out. He’d caught her rummaging the fridge one nightmare ago and promptly gone back to Ron’s room. 

Ron had been remarkably calm about the entire ordeal. “She’ll get over it.” He’d said sagely, patting his shoulder. They talked no more of it after.  
It made Harry think Ron knew something he didn’t. It unnerved him.

Presently, Harry took in the scene around him and wondered if he somehow ended up in the wrong house.  
He’d never fucked up apparition before. Then again, he was more or less sure this couldn’t be the gloomy, cobweb-ridden living room of No.12 Grimmauld Place.

It was well lit for one thing. Harry couldn’t see any dusty old windows. Just obscenely clean ones.

Teal walls with gold accents instead of charred black ones. A fully equipped, sparkling kitchen stood where Sirius’ little impromptu one should. 

And there was a real, proper sofa, and a real, proper mop of white-blond hair peeking out of a real, proper blanket.

Oh, Harry was sure this was the bloody wrong house.

But if it _were_ the wrong house, why would that terror of a portrait of Mrs Black be hanging right over the fireplace? And was she _smiling?_

Harry blinked. Yes, the portrait still hung there. The décor was still bright and welcoming. The unidentified blond was still dozing under the blanket, without a care in the world.

If there was a word for someone who did things without proper thought, then that would probably describe Harry right about now. 

He tiptoed over to the figure, accidentally got mud on the new-looking burgundy rug (which he felt pretty bad for), and pulled (more like roughly yanked) the blanket off.  
.  
.  
.  
_  
Impulsive.  
_

That’s the word Harry should have used.

Also, at that point he was certain this was the right house because;

1\. The sleeping figure turned out to be _Draco sodding Malfoy._  
2\. Said Draco sodding Malfoy woke up and screamed like a bloody banshee.  
3\. Harry gave a manly shout. Okay, _maybe_ it was just worse a shriek.  
4\. All the screaming and shouting made silk-bathrobe-clad Sirius Black run down the stairs.  
5\. Sirius Black had a clay mask and hairnet on. It made him look like Voldemort.  
6\. There was more screaming at that.  
7\. Sirius cast Silencio and Jelly Legs Jinx on them.

... Which brought them to the current situation.

“-can’t believe the both of you!” Sirius, now cleaned up, thank Merlin, dragged a hand down his face. He lifted the spells off them.

Then he started laughing.

Harry started to feel a bit defensive. “What? Why are you laughing?”

“Yeah, what’s so funny?” Malfoy grumbled from beside him. Apparently, he’d been hogging Sirius’ sofa for a while. And the turd had the audacity to act offended.

Sirius wiped tears from his eyes, which Harry thought a bit unnecessary. Then again, this was his godfather they were talking about. “Well,” Sirius sputtered, still laughing. “It’s just that-that…” He wheezed.

“Well, get on with it.” For once, Harry agreed with the git.

“I just… two people who constantly have their wands at each other’s necks… they see each other and then… they fucking screech like-like little schoolgirls.”

Harry frowned. Why would Sirius find that funny? They were surprised to see each other is all.

“Well, we’d be at each other’s throats had both of us been awake, I think.” Draco quipped. “ _Potter_ shouldn’t have overreacted.”

Harry saw red. “ _Me?_ You screamed first! And that too like a bloody banshee.”

“How would you react when an absolute _casse couille_ wakes you up by yanking your quilt off?” Malfoy retorted.

“How would you feel if you find an absolute casse-err..." Harry fumbled with the word a bit before deciding to fuck it. "-Prat sleeping on your godfather’s sofa?”

He snorted. “I’d ask my godfather what the fuck was going on. You know, like someone with half a brain would?” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
It probably was. Harry really needed to learn to think before he leaps. Or yanks blankets in this case. Impulses. Impulses.

“All right. All right. That’s about enough arguing for one day, don’t you think so boys?” Said Sirius, looking amused. “Draco, would you be a dear and put some pastries in the toaster?”

Sirius waited until Malfoy was out of earshot before putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, love, I know the both of you don’t get along-“

“That would be an understatement,” Harry muttered.

“Yeah, I saw.” Sirius rolled his eyes. “But Draco’s my cousin, yeah? And I brought him home from…” 

“What?” Why couldn't Sirius just _get on with it?_

“Don’t tell him I told you this. Better. Pretend you don’t know.” His godfather instructed.

Harry nodded vigorously, half curious and the other half wincing from how tight Sirius was gripping his shoulder. 

“I found him in an alleyway, pretty much dead. He’d given up, Harry. Ran away.” 

“Like you did.” He mumbled, and he could somehow see it. Malfoy huddling in a dark corner, on the brink of death and oh so very stubborn.

Sirius smiled. “Yeah. I think your hero-complex is rubbing off on me Harry.”

Harry responded by pelting his godfather with throw pillows. He did _not_ have a hero-complex!

***

Harry found he quite liked the new décor. Sirius mentioned Malfoy sweet-talking Walburga into letting them fix the house up. Yeah, Harry could see the ponce doing that. Disgusting. Ickle Draco and auntie Walburga. _Eugh._

They’d managed to fix up the living room, kitchen and Sirius’ bedroom that week. Harry wondered if he and Malfoy would have to share the other bedroom, or if Sirius would let one of them use the third floor. There was no way Sirius would let either of them make the sofa permanent residence.

_Mr H. Potter  
The Sooty Sofa,  
12 Grimmauld Place,  
London Borough of Islington._

Ha. 

“Sirius?” came Malfoy’s tentative voice from the kitchen.

“Padfoot’s not here,” Harry called out, a bit too lazy to get up. “He went shopping I think.” What for, Harry would never know.

There was a silence, Malfoy hesitating. Thinking before he leapt. "Can you help me? Please?" He added for good measure.

Harry grinned. "I don't know. _Can_ I?"

"Fuck you Potter." Malfoy grumbled. "May I ask of you to assist me in task for which I am inexperienced in doing?" He drawled. "Better?"

If he couldn't keep the smug look off his face, that wasn't Harry's fault. "Much better. Now what do you want?"

Malfoy pointed at the toaster and then shoved the Toaster Strudel box at him. "I don't know how to put this, in that."

Harry showed him how to plug the toaster in and let Malfoy push the frozen pastries into their place. He tried to ignore the look of pure fascination Malfoy had the whole time. He'd get on wonderfully with Arthur... had things been different and stuff.

"If that's all," Harry yawned. "I'm going to go take a nap."

Malfoy was still staring at the toaster like it was a twenty-headed Hydra or something. "Mmm. I think I got it." he mumbled, like he was in a trance.

Harry was just about to leave when he saw Malfoy point something at the toaster. "Malfoy, no!"

But it was too late. The fork jabbed into the opening the moment Harry grabbed the other boy's arm. And that's how the both of them ended up standing in the dark with their hair standing up and feeling thoroughly jolty. Or maybe that was just Harry.

"What happened to the lights?" Malfoy asks. Like an idiot.

Harry had no problem telling him so either. "You idiot! You don't shove forks into toasters! You get electrocuted, and the power goes out." And if someone called Harry an idiot for stating the obvious, he'd let it slide.

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Malfoy hissed. "I was just trying to get the pastries out."

Then something clicked. “We have to fix this before Sirius gets home.”

Malfoy snorted, and Harry was glad the lights were off because he might have punched the git if they weren’t. “Shit.”

Light creaked in from the front door. “Harry? Draco? What are you both doing with the lights off?”

Harry didn’t know how, but he knew Malfoy just looked at him the same moment Harry did. They were knee-deep in huge trouble.

“There must have been a power cut.” That was Remus.

“He did it.” They said at the same time.

“ _Me?_ ”

“Alright, enough of that.” Sirius interrupted them before a major row could commence. “If I have to punish someone, I’ll be punishing the both of you. Right now I gotta focus on finding some light.”

“You’re a wizard Padfoot,” Remus said dryly. “You have a wand. And you learnt _Lumos_ in first year.”

Needless to say, when Sirius finally stumbled into the kitchen, he was not happy to find the remains of an explosion instead of his favourite muggle appliance. Oh, and he did not laugh at the burnt toaster pastries stuck to the ceiling like they hoped he would.

So much for looking before you leap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda rushed this chapter but I think it's OK.  
> Draco interacting with muggle appliances is my favourite thing ever so I just had to, okay? Even if the toaster thing's kinda common.  
> Anyways if you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it, leave a comment or kudos :D


	6. Forks and Spoons and Knives and Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a jambled mess. And I am not sorry.

It had been a whole day since the whole toaster incident, and Sirius had yet to forgive the both of them. It was made even more awkward by the fact that he and Malfoy were camping out in Sirius’ room for the time being. 

Heck, they’d even attended a funeral service for ‘little old Toasty’ with black suits and all. Harry was starting to think his godfather was a little barmy.

Malfoy had been quick to point out Sirius had in fact, always been barmy and Harry was just too oblivious to notice.

They were working on repairing the first-floor bathroom, which turned out to be a more difficult ordeal than Harry would’ve expected. Even with magic!

“Consider that your punishment,” Sirius had grumbled, still mourning apparently. He’d even ditched the tacky violet bathrobe for a black one he’d charmed to say ‘You warm my heart, Toasty’.

Harry could tell it was driving Remus up the wall too. Because Sirius wouldn’t stop blabbering about how he’d never get a toaster that fine. That everything reminded him of the toaster…

“Oi, Potter.” Malfoy was poking him with his wand. The Hawthorn with the unicorn core. Wait…

“That’s not your wand.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. Harry thought it looked peculiar, Malfoy and him standing inside a bathroom with bleeding walls. The former wearing one of Remus’ muggle band shirts and his hair fluffy and loose for once. Harry hated the gelled-back look he used to sport.

Harry noticed that Malfoy never wore short sleeves. Even if he did, he’d always make sure to wrap his arms with bandages. Maybe he was hiding something.

Or maybe he just hurt his wrists and you’re overthinking again. Harry’s brain helpfully supplied.

“Excellent observation Potter. I’ve left mine at home and Sirius lent me one from the family crypt. Now can we get on with the situation at hand or do I have to recite my life story to you before that?”

Now it was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes. They’d already tried every single spell they knew and Malfoy’s even dug around the Library of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and came up empty. The walls just wouldn’t stop bleeding.

Of course, it wasn’t actually blood. Just rust seeping through the tacky green wallpaper.

How did Malfoy manage to use this place for a whole week?

“Easy, I just ignore it. You should try it sometime. Ignoring things.” He’d said snippily. 

Harry huffed. He wasn’t about to fall for that one. 

He’d been trying to avoid rowing with Malfoy ever since Toasty died. In retrospect the git’s been acting even more annoying than usual. “Maybe you should talk to the portrait again. Walburga let you guys fix up downstairs didn’t she?”

“Yeah. I’ll go do that”

Harry sighed. The last time he and Malfoy had been in a lavatory together, Harry cut him into ribbons and let him stain the floor red. Now, it was the walls that bled. His mind started to wonder if Malfoy really wasn’t bothered by the bathroom and the blood, or if he’d been pretending. 

Like he always does.

The only time Malfoy’s not pretending is when he’s insulting Harry. Or duelling him. He bet the first thing Malfoy thought up in the morning was the list of insults he’d be calling Harry that day.

Malfoy would probably tell him Harry thought too highly of himself. And that he was a narcissist. An arrogant prick.

His mind drifted to what Sirius had told him, about Malfoy running away. Something big must have provoked it, because Malfoy adored his parents more than anything. It must be something to do with his impossible task. Surely he’d be punished for not killing Dumbledore. Maybe he’d shamed his family, and couldn’t bear it.

Harry couldn’t see that happening though. Lucius and Narcissa would never willingly let their son sleep in an alleyway. Did Malfoy run from them, or from something else all-together.

And wasn’t he a death eater? Wasn’t Sirius afraid they’d be tracked? 

“And here I thought you were actually doing something worthwhile.” Harry turned around to find Malfoy holding a tray of toaster pastries and tea. 

“What did she say?” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his face. “The horrible woman says she’ll think about it.”

“And here I was thinking you enjoyed her company.”

“Please.” Malfoy laughed as they trudged down the stairs. He could be rather good company when he liked to be. Not that arguing with him was any less exhilarating. He just looked more pleasant when he smiled. More his age. “I was five when I met her and she terrified me to the point I threw up on her.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, trying (and failing) to subdue his laughter. Mini Malfoy projectile vomiting over Walburga was just too good to be true. He wondered if Sirius had heard that one. “Funny. I really thought she liked you.”

“She seems to have forgotten the whole throwing up incident.” Malfoy grins, baring his sharp teeth.

It’s odd, but not unpleasant in the least. It’s quite nice is what Harry wants to say. Malfoy should smile more often.

“Toaster pastry?” The blond offers.

Harry made a show of pretending to look out for Sirius. Couldn’t have his godfather find them eating contraband.

“Don’t worry,” Malfoy winked. “I used magic to heat them this time.”

***

That afternoon, Sirius took them shopping because ‘Harry dressed like a granny and Draco didn’t have a change of clothes’.

“Notice how he didn’t insult _my_ fashion sense?”

Blatant favouritism is what Harry thinks it is.

At least he got to see Malfoy gawking at all the muggle stuff. He’d had to drag him away from the traffic light because _how does it do that?_

What wizards did with magic, muggles did with technology. They replaced magic with numbers and circuits and voltage. Harry thought there was something inherently beautiful about that.

“What on earth is this?” said Malfoy, holding up a black shirt. He stared comically at the neck. 

Harry grinned. “That’s a turtleneck. I think it might suit you.” He froze, thinking of what he had just said.

Malfoy didn’t seem to notice. “Mudbloods and their naming systems.” He said offhandedly.

“Don’t say that.” Harry grumbled, feeling all that ‘getting along’ thing they’d been doing vanish into thin air.

Malfoy flushed. He muttered something incomprehensible and went to find Sirius.

“Damn.” Harry shuffled through the racks angrily. 

Stupid bigoted prat. Harry was a fool for thinking he’d somehow changed. What was Sirius thinking, bring a death eater home? Well, someone who is most _likely_ a death eater.

He flicked his eyes towards the changing area, where Sirius was criticizing the outfit Malfoy had chosen. The black turtleneck and a green jacket, unzipped partway. He’d paired it with a pair of black slacks that Sirius was trying to replace with ripped jeans.

Malfoy made eye-contact with Harry who turned back to bitterly sorting through sweaters. This was going to be a long day.

***

Malfoy grabbed him by the elbow before Harry could storm out of the house. “Potter.” His voice was tentative.

“The fuck do you want, Malfoy?” Harry turned around to glare at him and found the blond biting his lips. Not meeting his eye. Malfoy was wearing the clothes Sirius bought for him. The turtleneck and the ripped jeans. Muggle clothes.

Why hadn’t he burned them? Harry thought sourly.

“I’d like for you to hear me out, please.” It tugged at Harry’s heart, that pleading tone. Guilt wracked at his brain but his mouth didn’t stop.

“Well, I’d like to for you fuck off.”

Malfoy reddened and Harry knew he was holding back a snarky comment.Like he was going to explode. Then, he did something very uncharacteristic. 

He sniffled.

Harry didn't even know _how_ that was uncharacteristic. But it was.

“Malfoy?”

Was he alright? Was Malfoy going to cry? Was it Harry’s fault Malfoy was crying? Had Harry ever made anyone cry? Probably. But never Malfoy. Right? A thousand questions flooded Harry’s brain, but he couldn’t answer a single one. 

“Im trying.” He muttered. Malfoy’s eyes were shining, tears withheld. He shook tremendously and he had a trembling hand on his left arm. Was he alright?

“Malfoy.”

“I’m trying not to say things like that. I’m trying not to be like them but no one understands how hard it is.” It seemed like Malfoy was talking to himself more than Harry. Harry wondered if he should go. He wasn’t sure if Malfoy would like his company. It was all very awkward. It made him feel off-kilter. 

Then, in a rush of madness, Malfoy summoned a fork. “What is this, Potter? What do you- what do you call this?” He brandished it in front of Harry, like a sword. “It’s a fork?” Harry said, sounding unsure.

“What if I told you it is a spoon, would you believe me?”

Harry stared, bewildered. “No. I’d tell you that that is in fact a fork.” Because even someone as daft as Harry would know a spoon from a fork.

Malfoy sighed heavily. He looked weary. All the excitement from before had left his cheeks flushed but his shoulders heavy. Drained. “What if, for all of my life, I’ve been taught that this is a spoon? If-if everyone around me has called this a spoon.” He stared at it strangely, like it might turn into a snake and strangle him. 

Harry wondered if he was supposed to answer.

“-and then I find out that _I'm_ the only one that calls it a spoon. Everyone’s telling me that I’m wrong. That I should call it a fork, not a spoon. But when I’m home, they tell me to call it a spoon and-and by then I know this is a fork and my parents and their friends are _wrong_. That forks are something different.” He was rambling now, voice shrill and shaking terribly.

“You don’t use forks for soup.” His breathing was haggard. Harry thought he might faint, from the way he stumbled and teetered. Forks and spoons and soup and magic. 

“Even when I know that I should be calling it a fork it’s- it's hard alright?” Then he looked up, blue-grey eyes like broken glass. “But I _do_. I do try. I try to call it a fork. But- but when you’re told it’s a spoon for so long, it’s difficult to call it something else.”

“It’s hard to find out something you’ve been taught by people you love is wrong. It hurts when the real fork comes back to stab you.”

Harry’s mouth went dry. 

This wasn’t about forks and spoons. It was about how Malfoy had grown up conditioned to look down on muggles. How he was so desperate to please his parents that he never questioned it. How his world shattered when it all came crashing down.

It hurt for Harry to hear this. It hurt him to think that Malfoy was afraid he’d say the wrong thing, and had to replace them. With forks and spoons.

Malfoy believed what he was taught because they’d been taught to him by someone he trusted. Someone he’d looked up to.  
Kids didn’t need to see Father Christmas to believe in him. They did it because of the stories told by those they loved. 

Because someone who loved you would never tell you forks are spoons.

There was nothing Harry could say to make him feel better because Harry didn’t know. He’d never had parents. He’d never needed to live up to impossible expectations. He’d never…

“I have to go,” Malfoy… Draco turned to leave.

Harry reached out and grabbed his elbow, just like Draco had. But he held on, unlike Draco who had let go immediately. He hoped Draco would understand what he was trying to convey with that gesture. 

“I’m sorry.” Harry mumbled. It wasn’t the right thing to say, but it was the only thing he could. 

Draco glared at him, tired eyes flaring. 

“Why did you run away?”

He stared at Harry, but it seemed like Draco was looking through him. At the wall.

“They tried to make me eat soup with a fork. I failed and they left me at the knife’s mercy.”

And then he was gone.

Harry was too flabbergasted to call after him.

He knew what the soup with fork part was, Draco’s impossible task, but the knife? What was he trying to say? Did the death eaters hurt him? Was Draco not one of them after all?

Well, it didn't look like Harry was going to get an answer more explicit than the forks and spoons and knives and soup. Might as well suck it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried, to show how their relationship kind of improved. How they bonded over the week. But then it all went downhill and I came up with this.  
> I thought writing Harry's POV would be easy because Harry's got fucked up feelings and I've got fucked up feelings... but the problem is that neither of us know how to express them. I don't even know _how_ I'm fucked up and I don't think Harry does either.  
> Maybe it's this terribly sad fic that I've been reading. Lol. Also I might be changing this chapter because I'm not throughly satisfied. It's a maybe, though.
> 
> If you liked it, please comment. It makes my day. :,)


	7. Shakshouka Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because we need something soft after all that tension. Here's Harry mid-gay crisis and Draco who wants to say thank you (and patch things up with Harry, but he needn't know that) + Harry having a (tiny) mother-hen moment.  
> Guest entry by Shakshouka and a tacky old quilt full of memories. Also Jamie Oliver and the Cradocks XD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to mention that I'm not British so my _British-ing_ might be a bit off. Also I shoulda mentioned it earlier but better late then never right? lol

Harry felt shallow.

He’d switched from Malfoy to Draco the moment he’d started talking about forks and spoons. He’d had to be explained how parents moulded children to understand Draco’s ordeal. And now he was Draco. Not Malfoy.

Why had he not figured out that Draco was in turmoil the moment Harry saw him in Myrtle’s bathroom? Of course, he had to go and rip him up into pieces like a daft, impulsive thing he is.

He had to _drown_ in Draco before he could see the boy underneath the decorum and falsified-bigotry. Because even with his glasses on, Harry was too blind to see that when he was only ankle-deep in Draco Malfoy.

For Merlin’s sake. What was wrong with him, thinking about wading inside Draco Malfoy and all. What he should be doing is apologising.

_Ah,_ Harry’s wretched brain reminded him. _You already have. Didn’t go so well did it now?_

“Potter?” 

Harry was pulled out of his uneasy thoughts by the same person that plagued them.

People thought karma was a bitch. Well, irony is a _nickelbitch._

“Yeah?” Harry answered though he sounded two octaves higher. Like a schoolgirl. Okay, that was stupid of him. Like a dunce then.

Draco was looking anywhere but Harry’s face. “I- Well, I… Sirius has done a lot for me. Letting me sleep here and giving me clothes and a wand and I- I’d like to repay him somehow. Show him I’m grateful…”

“Why are you saying all this to me? Just say thank you. It’s not hard y’ know.” Harry couldn't help it. He _was_ just a sarcastic seventeen year old after all.

Draco flushed, but this time he didn’t look angry. Just kind of embarrassed. “I think a simple ‘thank you’ wouldn’t suffice. I’d like you to help me… make something for him. And Professor Lupin.”

Harry could hear his heart doing somersaults inside his chest, ever so often crashing against his rib cage. The old Draco Malfoy wouldn’t do that. He’d probably recite a stiff ‘thank you speech’ memorized age 5.

“What can I do for you?” If Draco was going to pull the effort to be less of a dick, Harry would be more than happy to lend a hand. Maybe he could even help Draco out of whatever problem made him leave the Manor and his parents.

Merlin. Sirius was right. He _did_ have a hero-complex. Fucking great. Just what he needed.

“Well,” Draco smiled and Harry's temper melted away instanty. “Professor Lupin made this really good curry thing the first day I was here. We had it with bread, on the floor with a palette box as a table. It was the best meal I’ve ever had.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, like he was already tasting it.

A smile tugged the corners of Harry’s lips. “You want to recreate it.”

“I’d like to, yes. But I’m not sure how.”

“Can you describe it for me? It’d be easier if we knew what we’re making.” 

Draco nodded. “Okay… It was red. And it had a lot of spices. A bit like _huevos rancheros_ (Harry had no idea what the bloody hell that was). There was egg in it. Professor Lupin added tomato paste.”

Something bubbled in Harry’s stomach as his mind pieced the information together. Harry recognized it as pure delight. “Shakshouka!”

Draco looked thrilled. His face brightened and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yes! That’s it.”

This, _this_ was the bloke Harry went to school with. The one who asked a first-year to teach him sewing so he could make himself a dementor costume to 'scare' Harry. The one who stayed up all night to make those ‘Potter Stinks’ badges. 

Harry might only know these things because Parkinson liked to tease Draco about it in the hallways, but he found that vehemence – that burning _passion_ that Draco had – so very admirable. Probably because Harry was shit at producing or recognising basic human emotion.

“I know how to make it. My dad taught Remus." 

He knew because Harry loved to listen to stories about his parents. 

Sirius told him about how James had been a total arsehole but at the same time the fiercest, most caring person of all. How his mum was the most brilliant witch of her time, but also hated Arithmancy with a passion. “She said she thought she left Maths behind when she came to Hogwarts.” Sirius had said with a laugh. "As if anyone can escape _Maths_."

James taught the Marauders Arabic and Tamil so they could talk about ‘stuff’ without other people hearing. Lily learnt it because she had to make sure they weren’t 'up to no good'.

“Really I think she just felt left out.” But then again, the Marauders were always up to no good.

The map, a whole month of silence to become Animagi, James chasing after Lily like deer after doe; all of it made Harry very happy, but also quite barren. Bare. Because listening to the stories would never be the same. He’d never be able to experience it. To feel what they felt. To feel like they were with him. 

Even if he learnt Arabic or became an illegal deer, it just wouldn't be the same.

Then, Sirius told him about Shakshouka.

“James was the mother-hen of our group – with Moony following not far behind, (that earned him a smack on the head from Remus) so he was always doing something or the other to make us feel nice. Imagine!” Here he laughed and looked at Remus with fond eyes.

“Like, he would always be dusting or making sure we had our coats on and shit. And one day he invited us to his place. It was the first time. James and his mum – that’s grandma Euphemia, Harry – they made us this poached egg in tomato soup. It was brilliant!”

“He made it for Lily too, on their first date.” Remus had told him.

Harry asked if they too could make and eat Shakshouka. Like a family. Like James and Lily and Sirius and Remus and Euphermia once did.

The three of them spent that day in the kitchen, fumbling around with potatoes and onions. And Harry could feel them. His parents laughing along with him and Remus as Sirius tried to get egg off his hair.

Shakshouka was special.

It was James looking after his friends.

Cooking with his grandmother.

His parents’ first date.

It was family. It was home.

And now, Draco was asking Harry to help make it, for Moony and Padfoot. Because they deserved nothing but the best.

“I’d like to try doing it without magic,” Draco told him, looking very soft and not at all like a pointy git.

If only Draco stopped puzzling him. It would help a lot with Harry’s heart and it’s occasional gymnastics.

Harry put him up to cut the vegetables while he heated up the oil and cumin.

He thought it was going well, Draco had chopped the potatoes quite nicely (of course he did, Harry told himself. He’s perfect at potions) and the oil was almost ready for the onions to be put in.

Then all of a sudden, Draco was crying. Well, he was tearing up, but still chopping away at the vegetables. Worry bubbled in Harry’s throat. “Shit, are you alright?” Did he cut himself? Harry should’ve known better than to have-

“It’s the bloody onions, Potter,” he sniffed. “They’re stinging my eyes.”

“Well, onions do tend to do that.” Harry couldn't keep the amusement out of his tone.

“Why aren’t _you_ crying?” Draco wanted to know. “The muggles in the cooking shows don’t cry either.” He said accusingly.

Harry shrugged, definitely not thinking about walking in on Remus and Draco watching Jamie Oliver at four in the morning. “It doesn’t sting as much once you’ve done it a few times.”

“I bet it does. You just have a secret method you don't want to tell me.” Draco said vehemently, casting a death glare at the onions.

“Here,” Harry said, not entirely disagreeing with the existence of a 'secret method'. “I’ll do it. You man the cooking station.” He quoted something he heard from an American restaurant show. It was about food trucks.

They were just finishing up when Sirius and Remus came home.

“Are you two murdering more of my kitchen appliances?” Sirius asked in lieu of a greeting. He sounded amused - like he couldn’t believe the both of them were fooling around in the kitchen again. Harry couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it either, this weird relationship he’d formed with Draco. What he did know was he would protect this bond with everything in his heart. It was stupid and Gryffindorish. But that was Harry - the lord of all things stupid.

“I was hoping we’d have enough time to set the table,” Harry whispered to Draco.

“Don’t worry about that,” Draco whispered back to him, his breath hot on Harry’s neck. It made the hairs on his neck stand.

Merlin, Harry. Now’s not the time for a crisis. His heart was catapulting now, loud and stupid.

Draco flicked his wand, the not-Hawthorn, and a pale violet cloth draped over their table. Two plates floated on followed by a pretty vase filled with Gardenias and Spring Gentians. Then the cutlery arranged themselves by each plate. Glasses and a pitcher of water were the last to go on.

“Merlin’s tits, what on Earth?” Sirius exclaimed at two chairs that started walking them to the table and made them sit.

Remus gave them a knowing smile as napkins were laid on their laps and wine filled their glasses.

“Err…” Harry cleared his throat. “Draco and I, we made this for you. To uhh… thank you for being such bricks. We enjoyed these few days. Might’ve been some of the best days of my life.” He sounded weird, but that was the best Harry could do, being shit at emotions and all.

Sirius stood up, despite the chair’s obvious distress, and pulled them both in for a tight hug. Remus joined them too, and Harry knew his eyes were shining with unshed tears. Sirius was pressing kisses into their hair. Draco was sobbing silently into Remus’ shoulder.

And then it was all done and all four of them sat at the table, even if it was only set for two. The pot of Shakshouka was summoned and Sirius eyed it hungrily.

“I’d always thought Shakshouka to be a breakfast thing.” He grinned evilly, adding an absurd amount of eggs to his plate. “This makes it even better!”

Good thing they’d added half the carton, Harry thought wryly. And Draco thought _he_ was overreacting.

“It’s nice, how Shakshouka’s always present on important days,” Remus said, smiling at Harry. Then he turned to Draco. “Did you know James made Lily Shakshouka on their first date?”

“He took her out for breakfast?” Draco asks. “That’s unique.”

Sirius snorted. “Actually, James invited her home and they shagged and he made her breakfast that morning.”

“So what’s the special thing that happened to us _today?”_ Harry asks when it goes oddly silent. He never did well in silences. They made his heart hammer. Harry didn't think he liked it much, when his heart started hammering.

Sirius and Remus exchanged a look. “I think we’ve officially become a family today. Four dysfunctional idiots.”

Harry glanced to his side to see Draco smiling, his face and hair lit in a warm glow from the fireplace. He looked very unreal, sitting at the dining table of No.!2 Grimmauld Place, wearing muggle clothes and a pair of Harry's woolly socks (that Draco doesn't know are his).

“And well,” Remus blushed. “Sirius and I, we’ve had a baby.”

Harry said “Wait, you can _do_ that?” the same time Draco decided to say “Congratulations.”

They exchanged dirty looks and Harry stuck his tongue out at him, feeling petty. Draco did not get to look so fit and embarrass Harry at the same time. It was just too unfair.

“Err… thank you Draco.” Then Sirius went a bit red. “And Harry, it _is_ possible in the way that you’re implying, but Moony and I, we chose the easy way.”

“Surrogacy.”

“So you’ve already had the baby?” Draco asks.

Remus had a lovely glow and Sirius looked terribly smug. Harry could already tell they’d be great parents. “Yeah, he’s with his mum until we can fix this place up for him.”

Oh. So that’s why neither of them was home very often. Harry didn’t think Sirius would leave him alone with Draco after the toaster incident without a valid reason. This was more than a valid reason. They had a _baby_ for crying out loud! 

After all, Sirius and Remus have been Messrs Lupin-Black for nearly 16 years. They deserved all the happiness in the world.

Sirius pulled out a few pictures. “This is him,” he said proudly. “This is Edward Lupin-Black. Teddy.”

Harry stared in wonder as a tiny little baby giggling in Sirius and Remus’ arms. A woman stood at the side, grinning at the couple.

“Tonks?” He says, recognizing her bright pink hair. “Tonks carried your baby?”

Tonks had offered to do it, apparently. The Lupin-Black couple couldn’t bear to separate Teddy from her, so the three of them decided to raise him together. Teddy was going to have _three_ parents. He was going to be so loved. Harry could see it already:

Sirius trying to feed him toaster pastries. Circa four months old.

Remus putting a blanket over them when Teddy and Sirius fall asleep on the sofa reading stories.

Tonks sending him Howlers to tell him about Weird Sisters concerts.

All of them crying as they send him off to Hogwarts and being so terribly proud.

“I know this isn’t the best time, but you’re going to be leaving in a couple of days and we… Remus and I… we’d like you to be his godfather, Harry."

Sirius glanced at Draco apologetically. Draco just reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Don’t worry Sirius,” he was grinning, canine-like teeth displayed. “I’d be more than happy to be that queer aunt that shows up late to Thanksgiving in drag.”

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a replacement.” Remus laughed, nudging Sirius. The shorter male just sulked until Remus kissed his cheek.

And all three of them looked at Harry, and he realized they were waiting for his answer. He’d been a bit shocked by Draco’s whole ‘queer aunt’ thing. He wondered if he meant what he said, or if it was just more forks and spoons. Metaphors and riddles weaved together to boggle Harry’s mind.

"Yes,” he said. And he meant it. “Yes. I’d love to be Teddy’s godfather.”

And then there was more crying and comforting and spilling Shakshouka. Some more crying, a little bit of alcohol and then all four of them were cuddled on the too-small sofa. The quilt Draco used when Harry first came to No.12 was draped over them as they watched the Cradocks on the telly.

He remembered that quilt now. The tacky, mismatched old thing. Sirius and Remus had asked all their guests to give them a bit of cloth during the wedding. After, they sewed them together to make the most amazing quilt of all. Harry’s mum and dad gave them a piece fabric with the pattern of a deer and doe charmed to jump from seam to seam. Baby Harry gave them a gift too - white cloth with tiny, colourful handprints on them.

At the very middle was a heart, made from the same material Moony and Padfoot had their wedding robes stitched. It was the best quilt ever.

Mismatched and barely holding on to a few seams, but still together, a bit like their little makeshift family.

And well, this might not have been the family Harry dreamed about as a child or the one he saw in the Mirror of Erised, but it was a family. And a darn good one at that.

Yes, it was dysfunctional. Yes, Draco used to be an absolute dick but now he’s trying to differentiate forks from spoons, and he’s got a beautiful way of expressing gratitude. Yes, Remus still beat himself up sometimes when he remembers what he is, but he grows his own herbs and always knows how to cheer them up. Sirius spent 12 years in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit and he had sentiments for muggle appliances, but he was the one that saved Draco from the alley and gave Harry a place to call home. Harry lacked in the emotional department but he was good at making people smile and didn’t royally suck at Defence. And that’s something.

It’s enough.

It’s enough because the people on the telly are liars. They make up these crazy expectations of what the 'perfect' family is supposed to be. Aunt Petunia might be obsessed with those soap operas but even she knows they were unrealistic.

No family is perfect. Harry understands that now.

It’s all the dysfunctionality, the ability to get along even when they’re all so very different, that’s family. It’s staying together even when you have different ideas. Pulling each other out of trenches and making meals that bring back memories. Sharing quilts and secrets. Keeping the knives at bay.

Yes. Harry could see it. Between the four of them (and Tonks) Teddy was going to be the most loved baby in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teddy is such an important part of Harry's life, so I couldn't not have him. I wanted him to be Wolfstar's baby, but couldn't bear tear him away from Tonks, so now little Tedward has three (3) parents!!!  
> Also I wanted to ease the tension a bit before I move on to the actual feelings and lovey-dovey shit coming up next chapter (!!!!!) Harry considers Draco a part of his family now. Isn't that sweet??? or a bit too fast?
> 
> Tell me what you think! Hope you liked this chapter and please comment cuz I need attention :P Also you owe me for all the frequent updates.


	8. Au Revoir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmo comes to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. I know it's been thirteen days, but I admit I didn't start writing this chapter until yesterday, lol. Enjoy?

It started subtly. Inconspicuously. As all wondrous things do. Right under their noses.

No.12 Grimmauld Place was beginning to feel more like a home, and less like a grim, old Victorian-era house that aged badly.

The warm light filtering through the rooms. Windows no longer looking like filter paper. Things appearing just when you need them. 

Like magic. 

Because it _was_ magic. Like all old Victorian-era things, Grimmo had magic seeping right through its floorboards and furniture. Wouldn’t be wrong to say the house was alive.

Alive and asleep. Now it was waking up, one brick at a time.

Harry thought it much better to stay in a living house than say, a cupboard under the stairs.

You don’t get much company in a cupboard, for example.

Flowers bloomed on the wallpaper every morning and shrivelled in the sunset, only to come back the next day. New rooms were popping up here and there; the wine cellar, full sized ballroom and the crypt.

They got access to all six floors, each with their own unique personalities.

Sirius and Draco knew the names of each and every room; The Rose Bedroom. The White Hall. Magnolia Alcove. 

Teddy slept in Ocean Boudoir, where Andromeda Black once resided. The lines on the wallpaper seemed to move, like gentle waves tugging along a flat sea. Sometimes you could hear the sea breeze, lulling you into dreams of seagrass meadows. 

Sirius insisted Draco take the Rose Bedroom. It used to be Narcissa’s. 

Vines ran across the pale pink walls, dotted with the odd rose. They part of the plaster, but often gave off the most delicious smell of rose and honey. You could feel tiny pricks when you ran your hands along the thorns.

Whispy curtains floated around the cherry wood bed, like clouds just minutes before sunset.

Harry stayed in the same room he’d always been in; the Astronomer’s Room.  
He’d never understood what was so _starry_ about Regulus’ old room. It had royal blue walls with swirls of yellow. The same willowy curtains as the Rose Bedroom’s hung above the cypress bed, but pale white, like night-time clouds. 

Then Draco showed him the magic.

He pointed his wand at the ceiling, and it lit up, like an explosion of bright light. Like what Harry imagined would’ve happened in the Big Bang.

“It’s a mirror of the outside sky,” Draco had told him. “Each constellation at its rightful place.”

“Maybe you can teach me more about stars someday.”

“Someday, yeah.”

Yes. Grimmo was changing, and Harry had a feeling the occupants were as well.

Sirius was taking care of himself more. It was as if his health had a direct effect on the house. If he was gloomy, the house felt gloomy. On a good day, it might as well have fireworks, which is much better than it sounds.

Remus didn’t have dark circles around his eyes anymore. He didn’t look back after every step and he didn’t mind when Sirius jumped on his back whilst cooking.

Little Teddy made their lives even brighter, with the occasional sleepovers with Tonks adding to the cheer.

Even Walburga was less horrible. Most of the time.

But perhaps the most different of all, was Draco Malfoy.

Harry remembered how he was in sixth year. Paler than a poltergeist and colder than death. Apprehension was always in his eyes. Always skipping meals and staying in the library until sunrise. Taking the company of a ghost. 

Before sixth year, he was a patchwork of lies and pretences. Never once showing who he truly was on the inside. That might’ve been worse than when the mask finally slipped, because not even Harry was ready for the boy underneath.

The boy who lived. But at what cost?

Now here he was here. In No.12 Grimmauld Place.  
Cheeks full of colour and eyes gleaming with mischief. Wearing muggle clothes and spending time in the kitchen with Harry and gardening with Remus, learning to do things the muggle way. Singing to Teddy in French and bickering with Sirius about the house repairs.

He was _beautiful._

Harry wonders why it took him so long to realize that.

This was another one of those things that start off subtly. Inconspiciously. One of the wondrous things.

Draco was always lovely. Always svelte. Gossamer-like features softened by pale, cloud-like curls. Eyes that Harry could never figure if they were blue or grey. 

He was more like a book than ever. Appealing on the outside, yes, but the true wonder to be found within its pages.

And here he was now, head buried deep into a thick tome. Sitting cross-cross on the carpet. Ghost of a smile on his face.

It took the wind out of him, poor Harry. The sight made him nonplussed. Befuddled beyond words because _how_ could he have overlooked this? How could he have been so oblivious all this time?

Harry felt like a blinded man experiencing sight for the first time. 

Surprise as the first rays of light filters through. A bit of terror when blotches of colour start appearing. He closes his eyes, taking comfort in the familiarity of the dark. Then he opens them and takes in the wonder of the world. And he thinks, this is what I have missed all this time? I shall treasure this for what is left of my life.  
Gormlessly vowing never to close his eyes again.

“Harry?”

Once again pulled out of his thoughts by he who plagues them. Harry chuckles. “Yeah?” He says, but the candence in his voice was hard to miss. 

Great. Once Harry had feelings for someone (and figured it out) his brain would stop at no ends to make him look like a blubbering fool. Like when he liked Cedric and Cho at the same time and fucked up with both of them.

“I know this is sudden… and probably peculiar,” Draco was saying. “But we’ve got along surprisingly well these few days.”

Harry nodded. It had been weird. He tried to think of Hermione and Ron’s reaction. It didn’t look good.  
Harry felt guilty leaving Draco out of his letters, but the less his friends knew about Draco, the better.

“I don’t want to plague our,” he made vague gestures between them. “ _This,_ by having you hear it from the wrong person. This means a lot to me and I… I’d rather ruin it myself than have someone else poison it.”

What was he talking about? Ruin their relationship? But Harry was just getting started!

“What… what do you mean?” He asks. This felt like one of those instances where Curiosity would kill the cat. And yet, the cat goes into the den anyway.

Draco stares at him the same disjointed way he did on ‘the day of the fork and spoon’. Dissociated. Like he wasn’t actually there. Eyes glazed over and voice shallow when he says, “I have something to show you.”

Harry nods once. Tightly. Almost like he doesn’t want to know. Because he doesn't. Because if it was something Draco thought might ruin their this, Harry would rather not know. 

Yet hearing from the mouse is easier than from the lion. Because the axe tells a different story than of the tree’s.

Draco leads them to the Rose Bedroom, on the topmost floor. The only thing above this floor was the rooftop, where Harry liked to climb when he had nightmares.

Harry sits on the bed, peach sheets clenched in his fists. Whatever Draco had to tell him, Harry meant to take it well.

When the boy in front of him bites his lip and looks away before unbuttoning his shirt, Harry thinks it might be the Dark Mark, or even Sectumsempra scars, that Draco might want to show him.

Those scars were there, yes. Silvery lines slashed against pale skin.

Harry wished he could say the rest of the skin was unmarred. It wasn’t.

Bruises followed his eyes everywhere he looked. Purple and red and fading pinks painting a gruesome picture no critic would appreciate.

His gaze fell on the left arm.

Instead of what should have been the Dark Mark was a deep bite mark. Scarred beyond repair. What looked like claw marks spelled out the most sickening of words. There was no mistaking who did this.

“Greyback.” Harry growled. His body acted on its own as he stood up and harshly pulled the blond into his arms. The scent of honey and roses mixed with something not unlike cinnamon wafted up his nose. 

When he let go, Draco stood gaping at him.

“What?”

The answer was tentative. “So you’re not afraid? Not angry or disgusted?”

A different sort of rage bubbled inside him. Why would he think that?

“You forget that Moony is a werewolf. You forget that he is one of the kindest people in the world. You forget that he would die for a _stranger_ , if they ask. What right do you have to think you’d be less like him and more like… like _Greyback?_ This changes nothing, Draco. How dare you think it does?” How dare he think that being bitten makes him any less human? Any less himself?

Harry felt arms wrap around him, and then a thank you whispered into his neck. He felt moisture next. Tiny droplets wetting the crook of his neck.

“Its okay,” Harry says, the same way Sirius did when he had nightmares. He’d place an arm around him and sit with Harry until the shaking stopped.  
“It’s okay, Draco. I’m here. You’re here. We’re both here and we’re okay. We’re safe. We don’t have anything to worry about. Safe, Draco. Safe. It’s okay to feel vulnerable sometimes.”

He didn’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden, they were on the roof.  
Grimmo’s magic, no doubt.

Draco gave him a watery smile. “I cry a bit too much.” He sounds apologetic. 

Harry didn’t want to deal with people who thought being expressive was wrong. That _feeling_ was something you should be afraid of. That would end up in a conversation much more mind-boggling than the thing about spoons. 

“I used to live in a cupboard, under the stairs. Dumbledore left me with my muggle aunt and uncle.” 

Draco winced at the mention of Dumbledore.

“They made me do all the housework, and fed me little to nothing.” Harry went on.

Draco seems to be staring him. Harry doesn’t acknowledge the look. “I didn’t know about magic until Hagrid kicked down our door and handed me my letter. My aunt and uncle always acted like I was a freak. At least I finally knew why.”

"I have a problem with forks and spoons too," Harry goes on. "I spent eleven years never knowing magic. Sometimes I forget I have a wand. It's easier for me to do things the muggle way."

“I can’t ever imagine a life without magic,” Draco says. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Harry hates it when people apologize for his suffering. There was nothing they could have done to save him.  
Dumbledore let Sirius rot in Azkaban instead of handing Harry to him. That was no one’s fault but his. Yet there was no sense in blaming the dead. “The stars look awfully beautiful tonight.” He says instead.

Harry hears a scoff from his left. Draco. “You have the exact same view from the Astronomer’s Room.”

“True, but there’s just something different about seeing it for real.”

Draco points at a group of stars. “There’s your godfather. The brightest star in the Canis Major. Some might even call it the dog star.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to scoff. Then the scoff became a laugh.

“What?”

Harry controlled himself the best he could. He shook his head, holding onto his sides. “Nothing. Where’s _your_ constellation?”

Draco motions at another group. “That’s the Dragon.”

That didn’t look much like a dragon. And he said as much to the other boy.

Draco glares at him. “They’re _stars_ Potter. Celestial bodies. We didn’t name Sirius the dog star because it resembles a dog!”

“So why _did_ they name it the dog star?”

Harry could tell that Draco was going to launch into a full-blown Hermione-style lecture with the addition of Potter-bashing, so he gave in. To his impulses.

Taking a hold of Draco’s wrists, Harry guided them to his neck. Then he wrapped his arms around the speechless blond. “Is this okay?” Harry asks.

A nod, and then Harry tilts his head to look at those blue-grey eyes. One blue. The other grey. It felt like he knew the meaning of life, staring at them.

Harry felt his obstinate heart hammering against his chest. Do it. It says. Where’s your Gryffindor courage?

It wants him to rush in. Be rash. Hurry. Fast. Fast.  
But Harry doesn’t want that. He wants to stare into those mismatched eyes for as long as possible. To enjoy the way Draco gently tugged at his hair. To cherish the moment. Make the best of it.

Merlin. ‘Kiss the Girl’ is playing in his head, like a little red crab singing atop his brain. _Under the sea._ It was the only Disney movie he had ever watched, and now it was coming back to haunt him.

“What are you waiting for, Harry?”

Those words made him stop stalling. Kiss the boy, he did.  
He tried to be gentle, because Ginny once said that firsts were supposed to be memorable, but that wasn’t easy when you have long fingers treading through your hair.

It felt like he was under the sea. Unable to breathe, but too entrapped by the ocean’s wonders to let go. They had to go back to the surface, for a breath of fresh air. And then, they went under again.

And then it was done. They were done. Fingers tangled, sitting close. The stars shimmering above them. 

Daylight flickered from the horizon.

The silence becomes unbearable, before Draco speaks up. “Maybe you can teach me more about muggles someday.” 

“Someday, yeah.” Harry replied the same way Draco did. He felt a squeeze on his hand. Harry squeezed back.

Just like the ponce to throw Harry’s words straight back. Harry thinks it fondly, not unkindly.

It was different from Ginny’s parting words.  
Of course they were, coming from two different people but… Ginny was straight to the point, but also a bit morbid. Talking about death and all that.

Draco left him with a choice, but without the subtle coercion that laced Ginny’s. Harry didn’t need to fuck around with Draco. He could teach him about muggles as friends, if Harry liked. 

It was the _someday_ that struck his heart though. Someday could mean tomorrow, but it could also mean thirty years later. Harry didn’t think he wanted someday to come. 

He wanted him now.

“Come to bed with me,”

And that’s how they ended up tangled in Harry’s bed, looking up at the enchanted ceiling.

Draco’s lips were red from the snogging and Harry felt a surge of pride. I did that. Harry dragged his fingers on the blond’s back, relishing the way he arched closer. Draco rested his head in the crook of Harry’s neck, and within moments of mixed heartbeats, they fell asleep.

**

When Harry wakes up, he wakes up feeling cold. Empty.

Where was Draco?

Something inside him shattered.  
The ten year old inside him, the one who hid amongst the shadows was laughing. Harry hated that child. It always made him feel worthless and unwanted. He didn’t listen to the sound of breaking glass ringing in his ears.

Sirius was in the living room, bouncing Teddy on his lap. Remus was in the kitchen, making Shakshouka.

“What’s the occasion?” Harry asks, instead of where Draco was. He didn’t think Curiosity would kill this cat. Probably _Crucio_ it over and over again, but heal it when it comes close to dying. Were they still talking about Curiosity and the cat?

“We used to have Shakshouka often, when you were little, Harry.” Remus says. “We lost a lot people in the last war, Harry. Your father didn’t do well, when someone passed. He grieves and grieves. The only things that could cheer him up was Shakshouka, and you, Harry.”

Harry could hear the ten year old monster now. It was growing stronger each second. “So this Shakshouka, it’s not for celebration, but for condolence?”

Remus doesn’t say, so Harry pulls out the big guns. “Where’s Draco?”

Within seconds, Sirius is at his side. Arm around his shoulder. Comforting, Harry realizes with an angry shudder. They were trying to comfort him.

“Harry, it’s okay…” Sirius might be saying. Harry doesn’t want to listen. He can’t listen – bells gonged in his ears, blocking every other sound.

The Shakshouka bursts up in flames and the hand leaves Harry’s back.

 _Draco’s gone. Draco’s gone. Draco’s gone_. The monster taunts. _And you're having accidental magic flares. Are you seven or something?_

“I like him.” Harry blurts. They’ve coaxed him into the living room. “I like him the way you like Moony. I _love_ him and I thought he did too but when I woke up the morning he’s… he’s gone. Sirius how could you let him go?”

“Harry, love, we know you love him.” Says his godfather. “He loves you too. Harry, he loves you so much.”

“Then why did he leave?”

“You know, sometimes love leaves you, even when it’s right.” Sirius put an arm around him. Harry let himself find refuge in the familiar and comforting smell of magnolia and dog Sirius carried. 

It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes, he’d told Draco. Now he was having to take his own advice.

Moony smiles sadly. “Love might leave, even if it’s right, but it always, always comes back.”

“You might have found the right person at the wrong time.”

“What if it’s the wrong _person_ , at the right time?”

“If it’s the wrong person, it wouldn’t be the right time.”

“So I just have to trust that when the time is right, the right person will just show up at my doorstep or something?” It sounds stupid. It sounds so, so stupid.

“Well, perhaps not in that specific context, but yeah.”

Harry drags a hand across his face. His heart pounds against his chest and something pulses in his head. He doesn’t want to feel this pathetic.

“Harry…”

“I don’t think I can wait twelve years for him, Sirius.” He chokes. “I just don’t have that willpower.”

Sirius sighs. “I promise, you won’t have to wait twelve years, Prongslet. He left to protect us. He said he doesn’t want to be the reason any of us get hurt.”

“But _we_ were supposed to protect _him_. You offered him protection, Paddy and Moony, please. I…”

“Shh, Prongslet. We’re here. We’re okay. I’m sure he’s okay too, wherever he is.”

Harry hoped so. He really, really hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> The next chapter happens after a time skip, post war.  
> Nothing in the cannon changes. These few weeks the kids spent in Grimmo was like a hole in the universe where all is happy, where time doesn't exist, sort of, but as soon as you leave, it feels like nothing changes. You're the only one that remembers the time you spent in there.  
> Idk what I just said lol. Cannon stays cannon, even if cannon is stupid. That's it.
> 
> If you liked this chapter, let me know! Also I am not sorry for procrastinating for thirteen whole days and then making y'all cry (I hope?)  
> P.S Don't forget that Au Revoir means _goodbye until we meet again._


	9. Crash. Burn. Break.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You need to break before you can become whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEEEEP! The closure you've all been waiting for is finally here!  
> This has both Sirius and Harry's POV.

This wasn’t the way Sirius pictured their happy ending.

He wished that for once, things could be resolved without bloodshed.

Sirius wasn’t allowed to fight in the war. Heck, he wasn’t even allowed to go to Diagon Alley, before the Ministry could settle down and hold trials. All he could do was hold on to Teddy and Remus. Hope for the best.

Harry left the day after Draco did, heart still clutched in his hand. He had yet to return to No.12 Grimmauld Place.

The aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts left the old school reduced to a pile of rubble. Harry was one of the students who offered to stay and help with repairs.

His godson had owled a day after the war. “I’m OK.” Hastily scrawled on a tattered piece of parchment; the only connection he’d made at all.

Sirius knew that Draco’s departure affected Harry deeply. He knew that expressing feelings was hard for his godson and that Draco was special. He was important. That it was likely Harry would never be able to love another the same way.

Sirius felt the same for Remus. 

_"I don’t think I can wait twelve years for him, Sirius. I just don’t have that willpower."_

The memory is still fresh in his mind, but fresher still is the sudden decision Draco had made;

“You’ve done nothing but give, and give, and give, even though the rest of my family did nothing but hurt you. You looked past all that, and you saw me as me, not the Malfoy heir. Not a stuck up prat. Not a death eater.” 

Draco looks like he is about to have another panic attack. “I… Thank you for that. For everything.”

Sirius draped the quilt around his shoulders. “Draco, you don’t have to thank me.”

“But I _do_ ,” he insists.   
Sirius found the boy huddled near the unlit fireplace when he came down to get milk for Teddy. He was muttering something about not being able to say goodbye. He looked so terribly distressed. “I do Sirius. I do need to thank you, and I need to give back.”

Sirius shakes his head. These were the morals drilled into their brains before they could walk. The morals that hunted them. The morals that kept them up at night.  
 _If I don’t return the favour, I shall be in their debt. Oh, debt. You can’t have debt. Who knows what they’ll ask you for?_ Rabid fears deeply rooted within prejudice. 

There was nothing wrong with giving back, but giving back because you automatically assume they’ll take advantage of you is toxic. 

And it _shows._

It shows in the way this teenage boy rocks himself back and forth, shivering despite being right at the crook of the now-lit fire.

“I’m leaving,” Draco says, suddenly. Narcissa’s blue and Lucius’ grey eyes stare back at him, and for a moment, Sirius just stares. 

“What?”

“I’m leaving.” He reiterates, gaze lowered. As if awaiting backlash.

He grips Draco’s shoulders and forces the boy to stare him in the eye. “Look into my eyes, and say it again.”

Draco tries. He tries to look at him with those wide, mismatched eyes, but he looks away at the last minute.

“Something’s forcing you to go,” Sirius concludes. He wraps his hands around Draco’s icy cold ones. “Is it something you can’t tell me?”

“Mother,” Draco says, finally. “Mother and father will be in grave danger if I don’t go back. I don’t want to be responsible for their sufferings.”

Lying by omission.

Some would say that it wasn’t lying at all. Half-truths. Leaving out the bits that don’t matter. Except those were things that _really_ mattered. 

“Draco, I trust you.” He says, finally. “Any time you need to talk, we’ll be here.”

That seemed to be the last straw. Sirius had successfully cracked him. Now the dam overflowed.

Draco had always been closer to Remus, than to Sirius himself, but now, with the blond boy in his arms, Sirius felt certain Draco trusted him just as much.

“I'm sorry.” He was saying, voice remorseful. “I don’t want to leave, but I have to. I have to because I don’t want you guys getting hurt because of me. I don’t want to be the reason you feel pain. It’ll kill me.”

Sirius patted him on the back, gently, like he did when Harry had nightmares. Draco smelled like Harry. Like his bedspreads. Draco had been with him. 

Sirius wondered what his godson’s reaction would be if Draco was gone by morn. Gone like a dream. A dream that turns into a nightmare when you wake up.

Now, Sirius truly understands what that meant.

He wasn’t able to participate in the war.   
Hell, he nearly got pushed into the veil by his cousin but _noooo_ it’s not safe. The only reason Sirius stayed back was that the Battle of Hogwarts was a night before the full moon. He stayed back for Remus.

He wonders what Draco would have done, if he found No.12 Grimmauld Place empty. 

_Everything happened for a reason._

The reasons might be a bit obscure at times, like why Draco promptly collapsed on him when Sirius opened the door, but they always reveal themselves. All in good time.

The blond was lying on the sofa, face ashen. There were a few bruises on his face, but nothing too serious. He had yet to wake up.

Remus sat on the ottoman across him. There were hours left until the sun would even set, get his husband looked as ghastly as ever.

Sirius felt glad Andromeda and Tonks had offered to take Teddy with them. 

“Do you think it might be the full moon?” Sirius motions to the way Draco’s face contorts in pain.

“He said he doesn’t transform, but Fenrir’s venom might still be affecting him somehow.” Remus rasps. “There’s not enough wolf in him to be able to transform, but I bet it’s tearing every muscle of his from the inside.”

Sirius shuddered. He casts a calming charm over the tense body.

“Stay with him tonight.” Remus says suddenly.

“What? And leave you alone?”

Remus glares at him, face green. “I’ll be fine. Remember when he left?” He gestures at Draco. “It was a few days before the full moon. There’s more to that bite than Draco lets on.”

“But babe,”

“Darling. Draco needs you more than I do. Now go make a cup of chamomile tea. I have a feeling Draco might need it when he wakes up.”

***

Draco lets out a painful howl just seconds before the full moon had risen. Sirius hears a different howl echo from the other side of the house. He bites his lip, keeping his eyes on the shaking figure.

“Here,” Sirius puts the cup of tea to his chapped lips. “This will help. Breathe, Draco. Breathe.”

Draco chokes. He looks as if breathing caused him pain. 

“I…I…” His words dissolve in a coughing fit.

“Don’t push it.” Sirius said, though he was dying to know what was going on.

All of a sudden, Draco’s eyes rolled back into his head. He flinched as if he was being Crucioed. It was terrible to watch. And just like that, he was wheezing again, gasping for breath.

Then a trickle of blood flowed from the side of his head. “Fell from the staircase,” Draco muttered.

Sirius watched in horror as three great claw-marks scratched themselves on Draco’s arm. The work of a Hippogriff, no doubt.

The bruises kept forming faster than Sirius could heal them. Impacts from dark curses, constant falls and accidents. 

When his torso started to rip like literal ribbons, Sirius hardly noticed. Draco’s white shirt was soaked in blood, covering every inch until you couldn’t call it a white shirt anymore. 

He had to cut the shirt. Peel the bloody cloth from Draco's tattered body.

The boy kept slipping in and out of consciousness, often mumbling nonsense when he was awake.   
Blabbering excuses for whatever abuse he'd sustained.

It took everything in him not to cry when the bite mark on Draco’s wrist began to bleed, mixed with a terrible, puce-like violet poison. 

By the time dawn rolled around, Sirius was too exhausted to move.   
Draco was sleeping soundly - if a potion-induced slumber could be sound, that is.   
He had to put the boy out of his misery somehow. The injuries would heal better if he slept. There wasn’t a single part of him that wasn’t covered in bandages.

Sirius wondered how many more injuries he must have missed. The ones on the inside. He didn’t know any spell to heal those.

There was a knocking from the other side of the house; Remus asking to be let out.

Then, there would be those injuries to heal.

Sirius levitated Draco to the Rose Bedroom.   
He then collapsed onto their bed in Magnolia Room, where Remus had already passed out.

The next morning, Draco had yet to wake up. Remus’ explanation did little to help ease Sirius’ conscience.

“The wolf within him is faint but powerful. It will do anything in its power to break free on the full moon. Even if that means ripping him from the inside out. Even if it means he’ll have to go through each injury, every curse he’d suffered all over again. Until Draco is too weak to hold the wolf in.”

“And then?” Sirius asks, but he doesn’t think he wants to know.

“And then the wolf will break free, killing Draco in the process.”

Tonks came by and returned Teddy in the afternoon. Something about meeting her boyfriend’s family. Sirius wished her all the best (and shooed her away from his toaster pastries). When she knocked, Sirius had gotten his hopes up, thinking it was Harry.

Another visitor rang the bell while Sirius was making soup for his three boys.

He was disappointed yet again. “Narcissa.”

Sirius almost didn’t recognize her. Her blond-and-black hair was pulled up in a half-hearted bun, mixing the two colours. Her normally youthful face had wrinkles and dark circles around her eyes. Dressed in all black. In mourning.

“Sirius. May I come in?” Sirius remembered the melodic voice of Narcissa Black. Like a nightingale. 

He used to be jealous because she was always picked for the best part in musicals.   
This was nothing like it. It was still musical and lilted, but not in the bright, summery way it used to. Narcissa’s voice was sorrowful, cold like the winter draught she’d brought in with her.

Quite beside himself, Sirius glared at her. “What do you want?” He was far too exhausted to bother with pleasantries. 

“I would like to see my son,” her face wore no expression, but her eyes gave her away. “Please.” Desperation. Raw and painful.

He heard the crockpot boiling, and the distant sound of Teddy gurgling. Sirius let the woman in. 

Sirius made sure Narcissa wasn’t going to try anything before he went and picked up Teddy from the highchair. The baby’s hair immediately changed from teal to black. Sirius smiled at that. He looked just like baby Harry.

Narcissa Malfoy was seated where he had left her. It was as if she hadn’t even blinked. Or breathed, for that matter. Her eyes flicked to Teddy, who was perched on Sirius’ hip. They softened.

“May I?”

Usually Sirius didn’t let confirmed-death-eater-and-probably-abusive women hold his baby. Yet, for some reason, he trusted her.

Maybe it was the jealousy over her voice. Maybe it was the fact that she had come all this way for her son. Maybe it was the way her icy demeanour melted when she saw the gurgling baby. Maybe it was one Black understanding another.

Teddy changed his hair to match Narcissa’s salt-and-pepper locks. His eyes remained Remus’ honey brown.

“Is my son… Is Draco really here?” Sirius almost didn’t hear her. It was quieter than a whisper. 

It reminded him of when they went to the OB-GYN for the first time. She scanned Tonks, and Sirius had asked, in the same tone, “Is our baby…?” And the doctor nodded, causing all three parents to start crying.

Narcissa didn’t cry when Sirius nodded, but he noticed she squeezed Teddy a bit tighter. Teddy giggled and yanked at a stray blond lock. To Sirius’ amazement, if not despair, the woman didn’t even flinch.

“Draco used to pull on my hair when he was little. I’m quite used to it.” Sirius hoped his look conveyed, _That’s nice but I didn’t ask for an explanation._  
Just because Teddy liked Narcissa doesn’t mean Sirius is going to go easy on her.

After an aeon-long staring contest, Narcissa sighed. “May I see my son?” She handed Teddy back to him.

“And why would I let you? For all, I know you’d try to hurt him.”

She flinched. “I assure you, cousin of mine, I have no intention of _hurting_ my only son,” Narcissa said eloquently. 

Sirius saw red.

“Oh yeah? Then why the bloody hell did he get Crucioed when he was five? Was that your idea of a birthday present?”

Another flinch. 

“You don’t have an answer?” Sirius pushed. “What happened, ‘Cissa, cat got your tongue?”

“We didn’t know.” She whispered. “You’re right, it was his fifth birthday. We had a party. Everyone was there. Your mother, cousin Cassie and Bella.” She choked. 

“Draco disappeared halfway through the party. We thought he went up to play with his friends, but all of them were downstairs. They hadn’t seen him. We looked everywhere, and I… I found him in the basement.”

Sirius’ mouth went dry. Just what had Draco gone through?

Narcissa went on. “We barely… He… It was Bella. She said they were playing. The marks of the Cruatius curse said otherwise.”

“I…” His grip on Teddy tightened. Merlin forbids anything like that happened to his baby. “I’m sorry.”

“Ever since then, she’s threatened us. Made us do her bidding, said otherwise she wouldn’t stop at just Crucio.” Tears poured freely from her eyes.

“I did my best to protect my son. Please, I wish to see him one last time.”

“What do you mean?” One last time?

“Wizegamont had an early trial for Lucius.” She said crisply. Gone all business-like again. “I have no reason to believe I won’t be next.” It made sense. The black clothes. The dark circles. Lucius Malfoy was given the death trial.

“Has he…?”

She shook her head. “In two days.” Narcissa thinks she might be next. 

Sirius led her to the Rose Bedroom. 

Draco was still asleep. More comatose than asleep, really. Madame Pomfrey agreed to come to look at him the following afternoon. “Till then, let him rest. He’ll wake up when he’s ready.”

His cousin sat at the edge of the bed. She brushed a tentative hand against his bandaged cheek. Draco stirred, but didn’t wake. Narcissa let out a choked sob. “I’m sorry, darling.”

Sirius turned and fled, wanting giving mother and son some privacy. In truth, he didn’t like seeing that sort of affection. It reminded him of Walburga. Teddy drooled on his shirt.

“Let’s get Moomy his soup, shall we?” Teddy giggled, turning his hair bright green. Sirius took that as a yes.

Narcissa left at the stroke of midnight. “I must go,” she had said, voice a winter draught once more. “Thank you for letting me see my son.”

She hugged him. Sirius noticed she smelled like the Rose Bedroom. Or perhaps, the Rose Bedroom smelled like _her._

“When Draco wakes up. Tell him I’m sorry. And we love him. Both of us. We always have.” She apparated, leaving nothing but three white rose petals in her wake.

*** Harry’s POV ***

Harry didn’t regret staying back to help repair Hogwarts. It was his first home. In a way, he kinda owes it to the place. He does, however, feel bad about not visiting his godfather. 

Well, he did _write_ , but it was just a hastily scribbled “I’m OK.” Like that made everything better. It made Harry look like a huge jerk is what it did.

And Sirius had replied so kindly, telling Harry he and Moony were glad he was okay. That Teddy missed him very much. That they understood that he needed space and that their door was always open for him when he was ready.

Harry still hadn’t replied. It had been three whole days!

“I really think you should write back,” Ernie had told him. “You know never know,” he murmured darkly before vanishing into a corridor. Harry found that rather creepy.

He couldn’t even ask Hermione, because she’s in Australia, and Ron went with her.

“I find the best way to get rid of your Wrackspurts is to face them head-on. They’re quite nice once you get to know them.” Luna had advised sagely. 

Harry was sure the fact that she was doing a handstand and painting the ceiling with her feet when she said it wouldn’t affect her judgment. 

She was right. He had to go back.

It was just that Grimmo had too many memories. 

The living room, with its tacky old quilt, where they watched 3 AM movies. The kitchen, Shakshouka and the toaster incident. Astronomer’s Room had Draco’s constellation right above his bed. Harry would never be able to go on the roof without that kiss burning the back of his eyes. 

Every room, every wall, every crack and every crevice was filled with memories. 

You only ever feel nostalgic for the good memories. That’s why Harry hated it so much.

Harry didn’t want to think about Draco, because thinking of Draco made him think about Malfoy Manor.   
About the rage that bubbled in him when they hauled Draco at his feet. The way the blond seemed to be breaking apart. Tearing at the seams. The all too familiar dissociation in his eyes when he looked Harry in the eye.

“I can’t be sure.” He’d said, barely above a whisper. “It doesn’t look like him.” Speaking seemed to pain him.

That dragged him into flames. Harry didn’t think he would ever forget the way the Feindfyre burned. The way Draco nearly killed himself trying to save his friends. Silent tears on his shoulder. Fingers just barely holding onto his jacket, like he was afraid. 

Harry nearly flew him back to Grimmo, but when he saw the look of contempt on Ron’s face, he couldn’t. 

The Hawthorn buzzed in his grip, sending silvery wisps into him. Every time he used it, Harry felt Draco’s magic. He was forced to acknowledge how everything had gone so horribly wrong. 

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to get a new wand. Not while he had Draco’s. Not until he returned it. 

_If_ he returned it. Harry thought miserably, because what were the odds Draco would want to see him again?

“He’ll forgive you.” Says a voice from behind him. Luna, thankfully not upside-down this time, smiles at him. “He thinks he was protecting you. Don’t let his sacrifice go to waste. Go talk to him.”

Harry watches, mouth agape, as she climbs aboard a Thestral, disappearing into the night sky. He doesn’t know if she’s talking about Sirius or Draco. All he sees is what he’s been missing.

He knew what he had to do.

***

Harry half-expected to see tuffs of blond hair peeking under the tacky quilt. There was no one in the living room, though. It hurts him more than it should.

The house looked the same, with the teal walls and golden finishes, but somehow, it felt dimmer. Like darkness had found its way into the house. Covered it like smog, thick and suffocating.

Harry wanted to turn around and flee. Hogwarts might’ve been in ruins, but even that was more comforting than what his home had turned into.

Just what had happened?

“Sirius?” his voiced echoed in the hallway. The darkness seemed to push against him, cold grip tightening around his body.

Harry saw a light in the upstairs corridor. The Rose Bedroom.

Could it be?

He edged closer, the floorboards creaking under his trainers. Harry placed his hand on the doorknob.

A cold, clammy hand on his shoulder made him jump.

Harry found his godfather behind him. Sirius had deep purple pockets under his eyes. He looked thirty years older and so, so very exhausted. 

His eyes lit up, though, when Harry turned. Sirius pulled him in for a tight hug. “Harry! You came.”

Harry found himself begrudgingly led downstairs. In the kitchen, Remus was feeding Teddy. He waved at Harry. There was a new scar on his chin. It looked fairly recent.

That explained the tiredness then. Harry remembered the full moon was two nights ago.

He picked up little Teddy, who immediately changed his hair from brown to black. 

Harry looked away. “Listen. I’m sorry for being an arse and-“

“Save it.” Sirius says, leaning into Remus. “We aren’t mad, Prongslet. You were hurt. It was only natural.”

Harry hated how _understanding_ they were. Why, why couldn’t they lash out? Why can’t they demand to know why Harry didn’t reply to their owls? Why did they have to be such perfect parents?

He wanted to say something more, but a crash from near the staircase stopped him. Walburga’s distressed voice called, “Sirius! Come quick!” in the most un-horrid tone he’d ever heard her use.

Harry followed his godfather and Moony to the stairwell. He stopped in his tracks, heart in his throat, at the sight before him.

Draco Malfoy, bandaged beyond recognition, sat in an uncomfortable heap near the fireplace. He looked more disgruntled than hurt. “I’m _fine_.” He insisted as Sirius cast charms over him. “I just slipped.” He muttered, smoothing his shirt. Wait, no. That was _Harry’s_ shirt. The radioactive orange monstrosity Ron had got him for his birthday. 

Draco was wearing Harry’s shirt. Draco was wearing Harry’s shirt. Draco was wearing Harry’s shirt.

_"Harry?”_

“Draco.”

“Harry…” There are tears in his mismatched eyes. Harry wants nothing more than to kiss them away.

“You came back.”

“I did. I did, Harry. I came back.”

Their foreheads pressed together, and Harry can _feel_ the house come back to life. They’re both crying, on the floor of No.12 Grimmauld Place. 

Harry had died and come back to life. Draco had relived every curse every sent his way.

They had crashed and burned and broken. And here they were now, frantic touches and tentative kisses. Whispering apologies and consolation.

Draco lies on his chest, fingers tangled in Harry’s hair. At some point, his eyes flutter shut and a warm quilt is draped over them.

Harry can feel Draco’s breath against his neck. This time, Harry knows, he won’t wake alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this the happy ending y'all expected? Probably not XD
> 
> Tell me what you think.


	10. Cliché

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a regular old Christmas at No.12 Grimmauld Place. Takes place five years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first chapter I wrote for this fic. I really couldn't find it in me to change it too much, so the entire fic's been building up to this moment. Hope it's good (it's not. trust me.)

"Well," Harry gestures at No.12 Grimmauld Place's landing. "What do you think?"

They'd been living in a flat near Diagon Alley for a while now, but all obligatory holidays spent at No.12. The house had become a sort of holiday hub since after the war. And now it was covered from head to toe in Christmas memorabilia. 

Thanksgiving was still a Weasley affair, though.

Draco snorts from beside him. He crosses his arms, hiding the ‘D’ Harry knew to be on his baby blue Weasley sweater. “This Christmas party is so cliché.” He drawls.

Harry laughs, wrapping an arm around the blond. “You say that every year. Last year we just hung ornaments on the Halloween props.”

“Like I said. _Cliché._ ”

Mrs Weasley spots them at last, and Harry smiles apologetically when she steers Draco towards the kitchen. Possibly to stuff him with Christmas pudding.

Draco scowls, mouthing ‘cliché’ at him. He then turns and gives Molly his sickliest, sweetest smile.

Harry rolls his eyes and goes into the sitting room. 

Sirius is standing on top of a ladder, frowning at the humongous Christmas tree. He seemed to be trying to choose between a creepy-looking angel figurine and a badly chewed star. Remus is holding onto the ladder, with five-year-old Teddy is clutching his trousers.

Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini don’t even look odd, standing in their respective ugly-sweaters, courtesy of Molly. Greg and Astoria got caught up in a big shipping deal and were very sorry not to attend.

Christmas in Grimmo was tradition, after all. 

Blaise is yanking at a string of fairy lights, with Pansy mouthing the occasional obscenity while pulling back. In other words, they were being their normal, snarky selves. 

Draco appeared, hopefully, to stop them before one of them ripped the other’s arms off, which Pansy threatened to do. Among menaces such as using said arms to hit Blaise on the head. Multiple times. 

It made one wonder just what was so special about those fairy lights, that two adults would deem worthy of mutilation.  
Harry figured cuddling his godson would be better than pondering _that._

“Harry!” Teddy giggles when Harry swoops him up. Remus gives him a grateful smile, glad to have his ankles back.

“You know what? Fuck it.” Sirius says from on top of the ladder.  
He casts a spell on the creepy figurine. Harry only sees it after Sirius sticks it on with a (potentially permanent) sticking charm;

Snape, dressed like Father Christmas, with his trademark scowl on full display.

Remus sniggers. “Snivellus looks rather festive up there, don’t you think?”

Tonks and Andromeda comes in through the fireplace. “Where’s my little Teddy Bear?” She spins Teddy around and round, both their hairs changing with every turn. “Guess what I’ve got for you?” Tonks says, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Teddy squeals. “Chocolate!”

“No chocolate until after dinner,” Remus and Andromeda say at the same time. They both start laughing.

“You guys are no fun,” Tonks says. Andromeda just shakes her head and resignes tothe kitchen. Probably to chit-chat with Molly about Merlin knows what.

Harry feels two hands wrap around his waist. Draco presses his face against Harry’s neck. 

“You smell like treacle tart,” Harry says. 

Draco snorts. “That’s because Molly’s been _feeding_ me. Honestly, the woman acts like it’s _her_ kitchen.” He complains, but there’s a fondness in his tone.

Harry points at the mini Snape figurine perched on the Christmas tree, and then to Pansy and Blaise, who seemed to have come to a compromise. They were hanging the lights over the fireplace. “Still think this is a cliché Christmas?”

His boyfriend starts to laugh. Draco’s gesturing at the Christmas tree. There are pictures hung all over it. Moving pictures.

Draco and Remus covered in flour after a particularly sticky bake. They’d been inspired after a Julia Child binge one afternoon. The bake-fest lasted till midnight.

Tonks and Teddy racing on a broom while Sirius followed on his motorbike, shouting obscenities. 

Ron and Draco in the middle of a heated chess game (which Draco won, mind you). Harry in the background with nothing but his pants on.

Harry catching the snitch on his latest game with Puddlemere. 

Hermione, Luna and Ginny looking radiant in their bridesmaid gowns. (well, Ginny looked disgruntled, but otherwise beautiful). 

Harry and Luna the very moment they slipped off of the Thesteral 

Fleur’s face the first time she tried Shakshouka (it was not a pretty sight).

Teddy, Harry and Draco wrapped up in the tacky old quilt.

Multiple pictures of the Marauders and Lily, back from when they were still at Hogwarts.

The Black sisters and Sirius and Regulus, all glaring at one another. Orion and Cygnus Black shaking their heads in the background. Their wives locked in fierce staring-contest. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Harry tangles his fingers with Draco’s. He feels a little squeeze and sighs in content.

“Harry!” Hermione calls, poking her head through the fireplace. “We’re coming in.” She has baby Rosie perched on her hip when she comes through. Ron’s wearing an obnoxiously bright orange jersey. Harry grimaced. 

"Where's Arthur?" Harry asks.

"Too busy playing with a lifetime supply of rubber ducks to show up." Ron grumbles. "I'llhave you know mum's not pleased with your idea of an early Christmas-present."

Ron kept trying to convince Harry to join the Cannons, but Harry was far too loyal to Puddlemere to make the switch. “There’s also the tiny detail that the Cannons fucking _suck_.” Draco had said, matter-of-factly.

Fleur half-drags Viktor, who is trying to wrestle Victorie off his hair. Bill follows, hand over his mouth.  
Fred is arguing with Oliver, probably because he was missing an important game for this. George is sharing a pale violet scarf with Angelina. 

Charlie makes a beeline for Tonks while Percy does the same to his mum. Molly shovels two trays onto him, which he takes with a grimace. “Kale crisps. Hooray.” Percy grumbled. “Who even eats this stuff?” says the only person who did.

The twins grin devilishly when they catch Harry’s eye.

Beside him, Draco grumbles something about not wanting another prank gift from the twins. Last year, Fred and George gifted him a bottle of Sleekeazy's. It made Draco’s hair go a bright, Weasley ginger. It was their best prank so far.

Harry, Draco, Ron and Blaise were on the sofa. Hermione and Pansy on the loveseat next to it.  
Fleur and Bill curled on a settee with the twins and their significant others in chairs near them. Charlie’s in a heated argument with Tonks over who gets the last chair.

“You don’t even like plastic!”

“This isn’t about _plastic_ 'Dora, it’s about the chair. I want to sit in it.”

“Well, guess what? So do I.” 

The two of them then turn to see Percy Weasley calmly sit on the chair. Tonks slumps while Charlie pouts a little. They slink down to lean against Fleur’s settee, looking chagrined. 

Draco and Fleur chattered excitedly in French, some of which Harry understood to be about… his hair? Perhaps it was time Draco learnt of his French lessons.  
That way, Harry reckons he can minimize certain schemes to dapper-up his coiffure. At least in his presence. 

“Gift time!” Victorie exclaimed. Teddy whooped. The children imminently dove into the pile of presents under the tree. 

Hermione beamed at Harry when she saw his gift – an authentic, autographed copy of _Women of the Wizarding World: How Witches Shaped the World as We Know it_ by Josephine Lyson. “I’ll have you know I spent two hours sucking up to a hundred-year-old witch for this.” He’d told her. “All for Rosie.” 

She’d given him a pair of self-cleaning dragon hide boots. “Because you never know when you need to go stomping around the Forbidden Forest,” she winked.

Luna and Neville tumbled out of the floo just as Ron was about to force the Chudley Cannons jersey on Harry. Draco seemed to have similar problems, with Pansy trying to force him into trying her new (and very pink) crop top.

“Sorry we’re late!” Neville grins. “Someone pulled out a preemie Mandrake.”

“Neville cried,” Luna confirmed. She looks very pretty in her leather boots and sky blue jacket. There are harpies painted on the back, for her girlfriend. “Ginny’s coming straight from the game.”

Luna sits on the floor. She pats the place next to her, for Neville. They both looked tired but happy. Probably because they were staying at Hogwarts.

Neville was doing an apprenticeship under professor Sprout, while Luna was doing the same for Care of Magical Creatures, under Hagrid.

Harry remembered the Harpies were playing their semi-finals today. If they won, they’d be facing Puddlemere in the finals. Then again, the Harpies were facing the Magpies this time…

“Fucking guess what happened today?” Ginny shrieked as she apparated into Grimmo’s living room. She seems like a red and green tornado, pulling off her Quidditch gear and throwing her sweaty socks in Harry’s general direction. (One of the socks hit Ron square on the forehead while Draco shoots the other with an _Incendio_ ) 

“Oh, shit, sorry.” Ginny said when she saw the kids. And then she slapped herself on the forehead rather dramatically. “My bad.” 

“By your haphazard state,” says Draco smoothly. “I’m going to guess the Harpies won.”

She practically glowed. “You bet your fine arse I did!” Ginny plops herself down on the floor, lying down with her head on Luna’s lap. The latter immediately starts braiding. 

“Maybe the best course of action would be to send the kids upstairs to play?” Sirius suggests dryly. “We have a better chance of controlling them than auntie Ginny.”

Fleur nods and takes baby Rosie. “Come, Vikor.” She orders. “Your goddaughter needs you.”

Viktor sighs but makes no further comment before scooping up Teddy and Victorie. “Who wants to play hide-and-go-seek?” He says in his thickest accent because Viktor knows how much the kids love it.

Sirius makes a face and goes after them, and by default, Remus does too. “Good riddance,” Tonks says poshly when Sirius leaves. She’s doing a spiffing impression of him. “That man’s worse than a PTA parent. Worst co-parent of the year.” Then she shudders. “Oh Merlin, he _will_ be a PTA parent.” 

She dramatically flops into Charlie’s chest, hand on her forehead. Charlie just blank-facedly pushes his best friend off.

“Now, where were we?”

“Betting off Draco’s fine arse?” Pansy says.

Draco swats her playfully. “My arse is off-limits.”

“Even to Harry?” Ginny says viciously. 

“I suppose there are exceptions here and there.” He drawls in reply. “You know Potter just as well as I do, Ginevra.” There’s a feral, knowing look shared between them that terrifies the fuck out of Harry. 

“Who’s up for a corny Christmas rom-com?” Hermione perks up. 

“This,” Draco whispers in his ear. “Is the part where it gets cliché.”

Harry just drags fingers through Draco’s hair. Draco leans into the touch, facing him so he could see those mismatched eyes. You only ever noticed when you were in, say, kissing-distance. And Harry _would_ kiss him if it weren’t for one Ginevra Molly Weasley.

Ginny clears her throat. “I vote we watch Gilmore Girls.”

“That’s not even a movie!” Blaise launches the offensive. “Even Gregory’s Girl is better than that one.”

“Oh, come off it you fuddy-duddy wanker.”

Percy holds up a bowl he’d been eating from. “Kale crisps?” he offers, looking bored.

And thus, began a battle of pillow-throwing and whoever managed to shout the loudest. 

A compromise was reached (one based on Kale crisps) and a movie watched. Children put to bed, and the wine taken out of the cellar. 

Now, after one too many shots of eggnog, the gossip had begun.

“So…” Tonks slurred. “When’s the big wedding?” She gestured between Harry and Draco.

“You both have been dating since… since Teddy!” 

Draco tuts. “My father-“

“The inventor of toaster strudel will hear about this. Yes, yes, we know the drill.” The price of interrupting was Harry being pelted by magical throw-pillows. 

“I knew it was a bad idea – watching Mean Girls.” Draco grumbles, struggling in Harry’s grasp. “Quit it Potty. I’ll throw actual toaster strudel at you.”

“You wouldn't dare.” Sirius glowers, making them all laugh.

So yeah, life didn’t turn out exactly how Harry planned it.  
Heck, he’s living in a Victorian-era house hydro-dipped in dark magic. He’s got a dog and a werewolf for parents, a metamorphmagus godson, friends who fought over movies and Christmas lights and a godawfully poncey boyfriend. Life really couldn’t get any better than that.

Well… unless they riled up Walburga’s portrait. 

That’s when things get _really_ interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an absolute pipedream. I can't even believe I- First fic I've ever stuck to till the end. Whew. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me. This was a rollercoaster of procrastination and feverishly looking up the wiki at 3 AM. Hope you loved this chapter as much as you did the others ❤︎  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> Well, I guess this is goodbye?  
> Also, I'll be writing a shit-ton more Drarry (and wolfstar probably) so stay tuned :)


End file.
